Bev's Revenge
by Lord Eccles
Summary: Crusher strikes the ultimate blow for womenkind against those sadistic, chauvanistic, nonmenstruating men. Revenge is so sweet.
1. Prelude: You Will Pay, Picard

Bev's Revenge, or NOW I Know How You Feel - by Lord Eccles  
  
This story may not be a pretty sight for the men, but it is one for the ladies. It just occurs to me that ST:TNG seems to ignore a few basic patterns of behavior inherent to human beings. It assumes that any personality faults or levels of ignorance are minimal or non-existent. I've yet to meet anyone like this. It also assumes that some basic bodily functions either have been completely eliminated, or have no effect on the crew and thus never turn up.  
The tale does touch on a delicate subject of this nature - the menstrual cycle. Now, hands up all the lads out there in Internetland who have comforted their girlfriends/wives at 'that time of the month', and used that all-purpose phrase "I can imagine what it's like"? Well I have some bad news for us fellas, we don't know shite. Now in writing this, as a male, I could only speak from my own observations of my family and friends, so I made sure two female beta readers went through it to keep it on the right track (thanks to Quoth & Dot!).  
Everything is, of course, exaggerated - so don't think that these types of reactions are what I consider normal with regards to menstruality. It only seeks to find what would happen if the uninitiated male of the species happened to cop it.  
It's important to remember that this is thinking comedy. It's not something you can just lay back and read like a zombie, you are required to use your mind. So if the thought of reality scares you, don't read this. Sod off and read some shithouse Mary Sue story, see who cares.  
The names, characters, and various trademarks are the property of Paramount. The story itself is mine, but I don't think Paramount wants it. And as for whose property the menstrual cycle is, well, anyone who does own it probably doesn't want it either.  
Feedback? Criticisms? Ideas? Licentious abuse? Please feel free to hurl it at lordeccles@yahoo.com - and don't be afraid, I mean if I can write something like this I think I can handle a bit of constructive criticism.  
(Oh, and there is a scene from Planes, Trains & Automobiles that I couldn't help but put in!)  
  
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T MINUS 48 HOURS  
  
"God, not again."  
It had become a recurring thing in Dr. Crusher's life, but it would never become a routine. Every four weeks it came back again, and for two days she would become Dr. Jekyll transformed. For years unending it seemed to have been going on, and what respite was there in all that time? Nine months of it, that was all. And being pregnant was hardly preferable. If given the choice of being moody and having cramps monthly, or nine months of morning sickness, it wouldn't take long to decide.  
Not that it was much comfort. "All those stupid males who said they loved my body. Well let's see what they'd think if they had to go through this all the time!" Beverly spat out ruefully. "Oooh yes, I was SO beautiful, they said. How quickly would I swap this body with them!"  
Many treatments had been discovered over the years, but none of them had much of a lasting effect. Injections were a fad for a while, but after fifty years humankind had slowly developed an immunity to them. Surgery? A bit permanent, and she didn't trust any of her underlings to put the knife to her, let alone with THAT.  
Great. Jean-Luc's coming. Go away if you value your life, Captain....  
"Dr. Crusher?" Picard's monotone announced.  
"What?" Beverly snapped back.  
"Oh... is something the matter?"  
"No, no, it's nothing. Just a bit tired, that's all. Now, what did you want?"  
Picard looked down on Beverly, in every way possible. Tired? We're all tired! What's so different about her? "All right Doctor."  
Beverly noted an impatient edge in Picard's voice. He is going to die, unless he leaves within the next thirty seconds. How DARE he...  
"You would have received reports of some new strain of virus that has affected various crew members." Picard continued. "What can you tell me about it?"  
"Right now, not much. From my own diagnosis it is very similar to a basic flu virus. Not terribly contagious, not dangerous at all, very easily cured." And her own voice became impatient. "I think that quarantine would be something of an overreaction."  
Picard of course detected the tone of superiority Beverly enforced. 'Tired? I don't think so.' he thought. His voice changed from the robotic monotone to the gentle father (as if Picard actually liked kids). "Sorry Beverly, I was just unsure. Are you sure you're okay? You seem very stressed."  
Bev saw his transformation. 'Okay, he'll get a temporary reprieve.' she decided. "I know, I'm sorry. You wouldn't understand."  
"Come along, Dr. Crusher. You know me."  
Yes I do, that's why I know you wouldn't understand. "Don't worry."  
"What's the matter?" insisted Picard.  
Oh all right. Anything to shut him up.  
"I'm... umm... having my period."  
-SNAP- Any sympathy Picard instantly disappeared. "Is that all? I should have thought you'd be used to it by now."  
Kill. Kill! KILL!!!!!!  
"Used to it!!?" Beverly shrieked in utter disbelief. "You don't know a thing about it!!"  
"Now look!" Picard was visibly enraged at something he thought so petty doing this to one of his officers. "You are a Starfleet officer! You do not let your personal problems interfere with your work - you have too much responsibility! Now never let me hear of it again! Do you understand?"  
Ooooohhh, he is mine. He is all mine....  
Her voice was suddenly calm - the calm of one who's just gone insane. "Yes sir."  
Picard stared at her as she returned to her work, before he stomped out of the room. "Women." he muttered.  
Beverly stared after him for a while after he left. "I think," she said to herself "that it is time. All those bastards! I'll show them what it's like! Oooh, will I! Computer, bring up the Masculus Menstruarite file."  
  
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T MINUS 45 HOURS  
  
She needed some way to get all of the male crew to her, she couldn't just go around injecting everybody. An epidemic was needed - then they'd have to come to her. "Damn ventilation system! Not designed for comfort, that's for certain."  
She planned to leave a large growth of a moss she had been growing which emanated a gas that caused various minor symptoms, headache, sweating etc. "Now, where the hell am I? Oh, this'll do! It'll spread." She opened a petri dish, and liberally matted out some of the moss onto a propeller shaft. Climbing out, her mouth flattened out to an evil smile as she felt the effects of the moss on her already.  
  
Beverly had spent many hours in the past creating the chemical Masculus Menstruarite (or MM as she called it), just in case she got the urge for revenge like this. It was designed to simulate the menstrual cycle in beings where it did not normally happen. The only place she could think of that it didn't happen was in men. Hence, she could now give men periods.  
The thought of what their faces would be like kept her smiling for days. But the solution alone would not cause anything. A second agent, a gas, also had to be inhaled at some later stage to trigger the process. On its own the gas was harmless, and it had no color or odor whatsoever. But to those with MM in their system, the gas would REALLY have an effect. And no one could possibly know how it happened.  
  
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T MINUS 22 HOURS  
  
There was, of course, panic for a while. The moss lived up to Beverly's expectations, and the mild illness spread throughout the entire ship. The entire ship had to report to Sick Bay to receive various shots. Normally her assistants would have helped, but she had created a story that the various procedures for relieving the patient were very precise, and she had to do it personally. "This is just too easy." Beverly thought. "Come on in then, let the fun commence..."  
  
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T MINUS 18 HOURS  
  
"Next. Right, sit down."  
"Yes sir." Ensign Johansen said obediently.  
"All right, we'll make this quick. There's that many people waiting we can't hang about. A dose of this, and (she couldn't help but smile at this part) another of this. There! If it doesn't clear up in 24 hours report back."  
"Okay. Thank you sir."  
"Thank you..." And in five weeks, you'll get the shock of your life.  
90 crewmembers had passed through. 57 of them males, 57 hyposprays of MM, 57 shocks soon to come. Beverly had, of course, changed the dosage of MM so that the periods would come in different time spans. A weak dose would cause the cycle to take three months, a larger one two weeks, normal dose four weeks etc, otherwise half the entire crew would be copping it at the same time. A deadly mixture, especially for 'first-timers', so to speak. Beverly was trying very hard to keep herself from falling about laughing. "Next!" she cried out in a joy she'd never felt before. The door to Sick Bay opened.  
"Data..." Her voice trailed away, as did her smile.  
"Dr. Crusher." he replied in greeting.  
'I can't do this to Data.' Beverly thought. He DOES know about it, although he's never been through it. He understands what it must be like. He'd never be cruel about it. "Sit down Data." he did.  
Just the anti-viral shot for him. "There you go. Take care."  
"Thank you Dr. Crusher. May I ask you something?"  
"Of course."  
"You appeared to be very disappointed to see me when I came in. Your voice seemed quite jovial before that."  
"Oh, never mind about that. No, it's nothing to do with you. I'm fine."  
"All right. Thank you again." Data strode out of the room. Beverly could only stare at him for a while. They're not all idiots, she thought. But some of them do deserve it. I'll just be selective, that's all.  
  
The entire crew of the Enterprise passed by. Bev found herself acting as judge and jury (and usually executioner) of the entire male crew, deciding whose character deserved punishment. She was thoroughly enjoying herself. A fair few crewmembers copped her wrath, but the greatest feeling of satisfaction came from the other officers. She casted her mind back, and checked whether or not they made some idiotic comment in the past.  
  
Riker. No contest - he HAS to have it! Deanna told me about a chat they both had, what did he say to her?  
"You don't understand Will. You'll never understand." Troi always did get so much more emotional that usual. Riker never was much help, this time especially.   
"I do, Deanna. I do."  
"NO YOU DON'T!! YOU CAN'T!!! You try going through this!"  
"Fine! Just put someone on mop detail afterwards!" he shouted as he left. And then he had the nerve to nag about it to the rest of the officers in 10 Forward. Just as well I overheard them.  
Well then Troi, soon he will be going through this. It's the least he deserves. How about every... oooh... week.  
  
Worf. She thought about it for a while. What did he say in 10 Forward? I distinctly heard Worf say "That response is typically human. If she is truly strong, she will overcome these difficulties."  
Let's see if you can overcome THIS 'difficulty'. Make it every four weeks for Worf.  
  
Geordi. He never was the best judge of character. Gentle, yes, but he will learn. His words were "I don't know, but how bad can it be?" This bad, LaForge. Six weeks for you.  
  
O'Brien? No, he's a good man. His wife told me that he did his best to make it easier, he knew he couldn't know. I'll give him a shot of whisky though, he'll like that. Call it a reward.  
  
And then, there he was. That man. That 'Captain'. See if YOU get used to it. No debate. No questions asked. He must PAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Every three days...  
  
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T MINUS SEVEN MINUTES  
  
All the crew had filed past, Beverly sat alone in Sick Bay. She was very tired - it'd been a long day. All was in readiness. At the push of a button the ventilation systems would send out the gas agent to simultaneously set the cycles in motion for all the pricks out there. "I've come this far," she murmured. "why can't I just finish the job?"  
One of Picard's words had struck a chord in her. Responsibility. This would cause mayhem! Men having moodswings like this all of a sudden could be very dangerous. Who knows what could happen? Fights? Murder? It was quite possible, this would be quite a culture shock for them.  
Hard as she fought with her conscience, she could almost hear the demon whispering in her ear. "Overcome this 'difficulty' they said... Fine, just mop it up they said... how bad could it be they said... uh oh, the Red Baron's in town they said..."  
She knew who was winning.  
"You should be used to it by now, HE said..."  
-Beep-  
  
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ZERO HOUR  
  
And it was done. The gas was released. Beverly had flipped the switch that started the clock on a time bomb newly installed into 227 men on the Enterprise. And every time one went off, there would always be another one. Later she realised that there wasn't a counter-agent to MM, but this only made her happier. They'll never stop. Never! And Captain, Jean-Luc, in two days you'll get a visit from the PMT Fairy. And another one three days after that. And another, and another, and another! Welcome to Hell. Welcome to MY world...  
  
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	2. Picard Learns A New Trick, Unwillingly

WEEK 1, DAY 2  
  
The virus was history by now. Soon, however, there would be a ground-breaking event in the history of the Universe. One more day, Beverly kept thinking, just one more day. Still, today would be entertaining enough. The thought of Picard with pre-menstrual tension would've been enough. Another thought did spring to her mind. "Should I tell Deanna about it? No, let her work it out for herself. I mean, the moment she senses Picard feeling paternal to anyone would be frightening enough."  
  
Picard awoke in tears. 'A nightmare.' he thought. But he'd never reacted like that. Couldn't even remember what it was. "I don't know, when's the last time I had any extended leave? I do need a break."  
His nightrobe was soaked in sweat, and it was making Picard feel clammy and annoyed. "Damned thing!" he raged as he tried to tear it off, and he did just that. The thing split in two. "OHHH!!!" Hurling the remains of the robe away (which knocked over one of his golden ship models) in a huff he stormed to the shower, stubbing his toe on a table. He tried to hold in a silent scream, but eventually had to let it go. "AAAGH!! Who moved the table over there!?"  
  
"What's going on?" Picard asked himself later. "I've never been in this bad a mood since I was locked in the turbolift with those... euurrgh! Children!" He shuddered at the memory. In the last hour he'd sworn at the table, the shower nozzle for spraying the water too hard, the soap for slipping out of his hands, the air being too cold after he turned the water off, the water for being too cold and then too hot, the computer for making his tea too cold and then too hot, his tea for spilling on his uniform, his uniform for being too tight and unabsorbent, his hair for deserting him, his nose, bed, entire quarters, Jack Crusher, and almost everything else he could think of. He hadn't sworn this many times in the last seventeen years. "I just haven't had enough sleep." Picard decided. "A bit of relaxation time in the holodeck, everything would be fine..."  
His comm badge stole his attention away. "Bridge to Picard," Riker hailed. "You're needed up here, Captain."  
"Oh, all right!" Picard shouted. "On my way. I don't get any peace on this ship."  
Riker was momentarily stunned. "....thank you sir."  
"He damned well should thank me." Picard moaned to himself. "The man just can't handle this ship on his own. None of these people can! If it weren't for me holding their hands, they'd all have been killed YEARS ago."  
"Ahhh, yes sir. Your contribution to Starfleet is well appreciated." Riker replied cautiously. Picard hadn't turned off his comm badge.  
"Are you still listening to me Riker!? What kind of eavesdropping pervert are you?"  
"I wasn't listening in, you just forgot to--"  
"Oh, so *I* FORGOT!!!!" Picard interrupted. "You know, you can turn off your badge as well! Or did you momentarily forget that?! Can't you leave me alone for one second!"  
"It was an accident sir, I'm very sorry." Riker said in the voice of one who nabbed the last bit of pizza. "If you prefer we could handle this problem ourselves--"  
Again Picard butted in. "NO! I'm coming up now. I've got to make sure you lot don't do anything idiotic while I'm not looking. Picard OUT! Did you hear that Riker? Picard... OUT!!" He punched his comm badge to turn it off and broke his thumb. "OOOW! Oh, damn it!" Checking that his ribs were still intact, he stomped out of his quarters towards the turbolifts.  
  
Upon arriving on the bridge, Picard was stared at by everyone on the bridge through the corners of their eyes. Only Data continued his work unerringly. Picard, of course, saw all this. "What are you all looking at? Haven't you seen me come onto the bridge before? It's quite common, you know! Get back to work!"  
As one the crew all did just that, but occasionally they stole quick glances at him. He strode over to the Captains' chair and fell into it with a sigh of annoyance. "Alright Number One, what is it?"  
Troi was sitting in the other chair, and was sensing far more emotion than she cared to. For a moment Riker stared at Picard before he realised he had spoken. "Oh, uh yes sir. We're approaching a huge nebula cloud that is on screen sir. It would take an extra three days to go around it."  
"So?" Picard's eyes narrowed in imminent homicide.  
Riker was looking even more uncomfortable. 'The Captain isn't normally that shade of red, is he?' he thought. "So, um, what do you suggest we do?"  
Picard spat out a gust of breath. "Well what do you think? What do we normally do? On this ship there is something that we call a PROCEDURE! Do you remember that? Good Lord! Data, what can you tell me about the cloud?"  
"Scanners are detecting nothing dangerous sir, except a small amount of an unidentified form of radiation."  
"And what does this mean?"  
Data kept working with his instruments without looking up, just as he usually did. "I cannot say sir. I do not have any knowledge of this type of cloud."  
"WHY NOT!?" Picard shouted all of a sudden, leaning forward in the chair as his face turned purple, the veins in his neck visibly pulsing. "You are supposed to be our SCIENCE officer! And you don't know!?"  
Data slowly turned around, his amber eyes wide open in a truly blank expression. He had no idea how to respond. The truth seemed the only remotely viable option. "No sir, I do not know. No records give any recorded entries of encountering this type of nebula."  
Picard leapt to his feet. "And I AM SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT IT!! I'm supposed to know how to handle it! The entire Federation knows nothing about it! Not us, not the Klingons, my Science Officer - the best in Star Fleet - he doesn't know anything either, but I DO, DO I!!?!" Picard was spitting as he screamed at the entire bridge. "Oooh yes! Let's call the Captain! He knows everything, doesn't he? Well guess what children! I DON'T!!! I AM ONLY HUMAN!! For God's sake!" He turned his rage back onto poor Data. "What kind of bucket of rust android are you!? You're supposed to be the greatest scientific achievement of the Alliance! The crown achievement of Dr. Soong's so-called genius!! And what do I get? You DON'T KNOW!! If you don't know, what the hell use are you?! I am just about fed up with you Data! You're always whining about 'wanting to gain emotional experience', or 'becoming more human' blah blah blah. WELL YOU CAN'T!!! YOU ARE AN ANDROID!! GET THAT?!! DROID!! MACHINE!! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT!!?!" He stood staring at Data, panting for breath and clenching his fists.   
Data's only reaction was a slight jerk of the head. His face held his completely blank look, and it only made Picard even more enraged. The entire bridge was staring directly at him now, and it wasn't long before Troi made that most tragic mistake someone could make.  
"Captain, are you all right?"  
Of course I'm all right. Naturally. I'm always like this. Sense this, you stupid tart, I'm going to disembowel you if you ask another idiotic question like that!  
Picard slowly turned around, and stared straight at Troi. She unconsciously backed further into her chair, a look of pure terror on her face. Picard's face, however, slowly turned from a picture of rage to a sort of maniacal peace.  
"Yes, yes. I'm fine! I'm just fine." Picard stared at Troi for a while. He giggled a bit. "Just fine. Of course I'm okay. Perfectly alright." He was looking up at the viewscreen by now, telling himself how fine he felt and smiling like Lore. "Naturally. I'm perfectly calm. No problems at all... nothing wrong with me... no worries... at... all... couldn't be happier..."  
He kept on reassuring himself as he slowly walked off the bridge, followed by twenty eyes. "What could be wrong with me? I'm fine! Just fine." Picard had reached the turbolift when Riker broke his spell.  
"So, what should we do about the cloud Captain?"  
"JUST GO THROUGH IT!!!! I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!!!!" The lift shut. The noiseproof walls still couldn't hide the machinegunning of expletives Picard let loose.  
Even the hum of the engines seemed silent after he left. No one could speak. Data was still trying to figure out what crime he committed to deserve that kind of tearing off. Troi's mind was reeling from reading Picard's emotions. Finally Riker spoke. "I suppose you could call that a direct order."  
  
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WEEK 1, DAY 3  
  
Word of yesterday's incident, as well as a few other things Picard got up to afterwards spread rapidly, gossip being the second fastest thing in the universe to bad news. "What came over Picard like that?" "He's never shouted like that!" "And on the BRIDGE!!?" There were as many people concerned about it as there were laughing about it. Some said it was some alien possession. Others thought it was about time Jean-Luc loosened up a bit.  
But no one was as cheerful about it as Dr. Crusher. She was in heaven! 'Vengeance is MINE!!!' she thought proudly. It took a lot of work, but it was worth it. Worth it all. "And the fun's barely started! That was just the pre-game entertainment. Here comes the real thing..."  
  
0821, ship time. Still very weary from the emotional exertion the previous day put him through, Picard was preparing himself for the day ahead. What was to come in only a few minutes there was no possible way of preparing for - even if he knew it was coming he still would've had no idea what was happening.  
As it was, he had just put on his uniform when the "event" came to pass. It was an experience he would relive in many nightmares to come, both real and sleep-induced. One moment, all was well. Smooth out the wrinkles in the uniform, no problems. All of a sudden Picard felt a very painful cramp in his abdomen area. The unexpected stab-like rush of pain stunned his brain into THOUGHT=OFF mode. 'What's this?' he pondered after getting his senses back in order. It didn't seem to be settling down at all, if anything it was becoming slightly more painful.  
  
And then.  
Then...  
  
The moment arrived.  
  
Completely unbidden, totally unexpected, Picard felt 'something happen' in his trousers. A moment of confusion followed, and then he got the first clue what it was. Stunned into paralysis, Picard could only stammer out "What the hell is going on here!?" His first thought was that he had somehow lost bladder control. VERY suddenly. Taking the time to make a detailed scientific inspection of what it was (ie: he rubbed his hand down there and had a look what was on it), he saw the terrifying truth.  
Blood. Blood? BLOOD!!????!? What? How? Where? How? Why? What? How? Why? What? Questions rocketed through his brain, and he couldn't find any answers. If anything, the questions seemed to be breeding and were multiplying in numbers dramatically. The feeling was like nothing he had ever wanted to know. Even though the amount of blood was small, it felt as if someone had poured a jar of honey in the front of his underwear. It was a totally unfamiliar feeling to him, and an utterly awful one as well.  
Still frozen to the spot, Picard finally decided how to fix this with three simple steps:  
a) Get cleaned up,  
b) Get to Sick Bay,  
c) Since I can't, find someone else who can work out what the hell's going on here.  
"Right, I'll do that." Picard reassured himself, still trying to convince his legs to move. By now he was getting very annoyed at what happened. Shock had given way to anger, and he was keen to find someone to blame.  
After a shower, a new uniform, and a series of confused expressions in the mirror, Jean-Luc tried to make himself look authoritative for the day. If the crew found out about this, he would become the biggest laughing stock on the Enterprise since Riker caught an STD from an alien female, and his entire genitalia just fell off and slid down the leg of his uniform, making a simple kick in the shins a fine substitute for a stun phaser.  
The best thing Picard could think of in his harrowed state of mind was to march. And so he did. Marching along the corridors, he felt his confidence coming back to him. He felt that it gave him an air of officialdom, of authority. Unfortunately, judging by the sniggering he constantly heard behind him, it also seemed to give him an air of silliness.  
  
O'Brien was also preparing to go on duty. However, he was in a much more happy mood than Picard could possibly be. And O'Brien, albeit innocently, made a dreadful mistake.  
It was something he did quite commonly. There was no malice in his actions at all. On any other day it would have been no bad thing, perhaps something quite cheerful. But today, it was a horrific thing to do.  
He was singing.  
Alas, being the Irishman that he was, O'Brien was a patriot of Ireland, and (like so many of his other Celtic cousins) he insisted on singing songs about his homeland, even though he'd never even been there. Just as Scotsmen on the Enterprise sang about Robert the Bruce and the battle of Bonnockburn - even though they knew nothing about either of them, O'Brien sang about the Green, Green Hills of Ireland - completely oblivious of the fact that the hills he sung of were no longer green, and were also no longer (strictly speaking) hills either, since they had been strip-mined of anything they could have possibly possessed decades ago.  
The singing, in itself, was forgivable. Irish folk songs have a great charm to them. The problem was O'Brien had to sing it in the great but unmistakable Irish style - a dreaded, nasal E-flat tone, known and hated the universe over.  
  
Oh, won't you stay...  
Stay a little while with your own ones  
Don't ever stray  
Stray so far from your own one  
  
And so on and so on.  
Beautiful and meaningful as it was, its' meaning was lost on Picard whilst in this state. With his patience at an all-time low, Picard had no time to care about Irish family values.  
  
Oh, the world is so cold  
Don't care nothing for your soul  
You share, with yo--  
  
"SHUTUP!!!" Picard shouted, enforcing the silence he wanted both with his authoritative voice and a clenched fist.  
O'Brien was left stunned in Picard's wake. It took him a minute to work out that someone had punched him, and another four minutes to work out that it was Picard. The Captain punched me?? Bloody Frogs!  
  
Upon entering the bridge, all was as normal. Picard by now had regained his composure and was, as Data would put it "functioning correctly".  
Data would later rephrase that to "strangely erratic".  
  
The day passed by without major incident, provided you consider, for example, the demolition of a planet a minor incident. But towards the end of his stint on the bridge the Enterprise encountered that triggered Picard.  
  
"Something coming up on sensors, sir." the helmsasexualalien announced.  
"On screen." Picard replied.  
The image on the screen changed from a view of the stars to another view of the stars with a miniscule glint in the centre of screen.  
Picard waited. And waited "Well?"  
"Well what, sir?"  
"Magnify, you idiot! Isn't it obvious?"  
"Oh... uh, yes sir."  
The image changed again, and there floating in space was one of the Borg.  
Picard gagged momentarily. His eyes widened, and he stopped blinking. No one else reacted at all. "Orders, sir?" the helm asked.  
Jean-Luc didn't move. After a while he was receiving a few stares. Still his gaze was fixed at the Borg in horror. He started shaking slightly, and sweat was starting to appear.  
"Sir?" Worf prompted. Still no response. After a few more seconds Picard let out a strangled scream of panic and sprinted into his ready room.  
The bridge was stunned. By the time they had asked themselves what they should do now the Enterprise had run into the Borg in question, rendering it into something closer to a stew.  
  
After a minute or so, Worf went into the ready room to see what Picard was doing. He was sobbing at his desk. "Captain, is there a problem?" Worf asked in some concern.  
Jean-Luc slowly brought his head up. Worf, being unfamiliar with the sight of a male crying, was stunned to see Picard's red-rimmed eyes and his shortness of breath. He thought Picard must have something wrong with him, and he immediately called Sickbay. In the meantime, he walked over to Picard in some concern, thinking what he could do to stop the swelling in Picard's eyes, when he immediately had two arms flung around him and his waist was put into a bear hug.  
At least that's what he first thought. Closer inspection showed Picard was just hugging him. Worf had been subjected to many embraces, but usually from happy comrades after a victory of some sort. Picard was clearly not a happy comrade right now, and there had been no recent victory to speak of. Worf had no idea what to do.  
"Oh Worf!" Picard was crying. "Don't let them hurt me again! Don't let the Borg take me away!" he continued a tirade of pleas to not let the Big Bad Borg get him, unaware that the Borg in question was now only posing a cleaning problem.  
Worf was lost. His widened eyes were scanning the room for any unseen eyes that might be seeing this embarrassing scene, and perhaps for someone else who could take over. He looked down again, and gently patted Picard's head - he couldn't think of anything else to do.  
Picard continued unabated, then suddenly stopped. He looked up at stared at Worf, right into his eyes. Worf tried to break the stare, but he felt compelled to listen.  
"Thank you, Worf. Thank you for being my friend."  
This wasn't the first time that Worf had wished that he was back in the wars again. Luckily for him a few seconds later the crew from Sickbay arrived. Unluckily for him they were treated to a very rare sight indeed. Three of the medics were only just holding back their laughter. Two of them were only just failing.  
Worf remained completely silent whilst they disentangled him from Picard's grasp, and took over the situation. He very quickly marched out of the ready room and resumed his post as if nothing had happened. Over the next eight weeks the braver members of the crew went to great pains to remind Worf of this event and gave themselves a great laugh over it.  
Of course, Worf would eventually have the last laugh.  



	3. Riker: Your Womanising Days Are Over

WEEK 1, DAY 7  
  
And here was Riker's day of reckoning. The preliminaries were over, and it was time for the real moodswinging show to begin for him. It would, of course, push his emotional responses to the extremes, instead of a normal rational level to start off with. And Riker, being the testosterone-driven being that he is, usually had only one response - violence.  
  
Riker awoke with a painful cramp in his abdomen. He could also feel something gurgling in his groin, a feeling he wasn't very comfortable with. 'What could this be?' he thought, still only half-awake. Then he felt something else, and this was more familiar. 'Ah yes, need to pee.'  
Alas for Riker, it wasn't the only thing coming. He casually threw himself off the bed and walked over to his bathroom and relieved himself, but it wasn't long before another completely different liquid came along. This is exactly what he said when he was in there (see if you can guess when he first saw blood):  
"-whistle-... ha da da.... ladadadee... Hmm hmm hmm hmmmmm... But don't blame meeEEee.... for falling in love with yooOOOouuuu.... I'm under your spell.... But how can I help it if want t--WHAT THE FUCK!!!?"  
  
Riker broke warp three getting to Sick Bay. 'A problem with my manhood!?' he thought. 'Impossible! Although... maybe it was something from that ambassador we met... really shouldn't be screwing all these alien women, never know what could happen.'  
When he got there he was running so fast he was moving faster than the doors were opening, and almost dislocated his shoulder slamming into them. He jumped up onto the examination table, laid himself out on his back ready for inspection, and explained to Beverly exactly what happened.  
There was no response. Riker looked up. "Doctor Crusher?" She wasn't there. No one was there. "Computer, give the position of Beverly Crusher."  
-chirp- "Beverly Crusher is in her quarters."  
"When is she due on duty?"  
"Seven hours."  
"Oh great!" exclaimed Riker. "Now what am I going to do? What the hell is this?"  
"I do not understand. Please rephrase the question." the computer said.  
"Oh shut up!"  
"Understood."  
"Dammit, isn't there an on/off switch for that thing listening to us? Anyway, what the hell is this? I can't talk to one of the other medics, can't let them see Mr. Wunderbar like this... I'll wake her up. This is an emergency!"  
  
Arriving at Dr. Crusher's room, he pressed the entry hailer. No response. He pressed it again. No response again. "The thing's so quiet it couldn't wake anyone up." Clicking his comm badge, he called Crusher directly. "Riker to Crusher, please respond."  
There was about a minutes silence, then the voice of Satan replied "Crusher here, this better be good. What is it?"  
"Can you come to Sick Bay immediately, there's been an emergency."  
"No, I can't come to Sick Bay." it moaned. "I've had an hour's sleep, and right now I couldn't work out 2+2, let alone anything medical. The other orderlies should be there, can't they handle it?"  
"Ahhhh... no."  
"Why? Who's injured? What happened?" Bev said in sudden alarm.  
"Ahhh... I'm the patient, Beverly. It's a delicate matter, and I wanted to discuss it privately."  
There was a short pause. "Riker?"  
"Yes?"  
"If you ever wake me up again, I'll cut your balls off and tell Q they're maracas, do you understand?" Riker heard Beverly's comm badge bounce off her door.  
"Selfish bitch!" Riker muttered. "Can't be bothered getting up to help someone in need! What if we returned the favour Beverly? Then where would--"  
"Bridge to Riker, where are you? You were supposed to report for duty ten minutes ago!" Picard's anger was still evident even through the comm badge.  
"Damn!" Riker shouted at himself. "On my way sir!"  
  
Things on the bridge were uneventful for some time. Riker was getting very toey, and extremely bored. He kept pacing around, throwing himself into his chair, muttering "Come on, something happen!", cleaning his nails and picking his nose (often simultaneously), much to the annoyance of the rest of the crew. Finally, after three hours, there came something to keep Riker occupied. Not long after it would grow to keep most of the rest of the known universe occupied too.  
  
Worf's sandpaper-coarse voice penetrated the silence that pervaded the bridge. "Sir, we are picking up another vessel."  
"About bloody time." Riker muttered, looked at the viewscreen. "Data, half impulse power. What is it Worf?"  
"Romulan sir. A light cruiser, primarily used a scout ship. It is changing course, heading directly towards us."  
"Shields up, go to yellow alert. Get a torpedo lock on it." Riker barked out.  
Even Worf looked a bit puzzled at this. Data turned around and said "That action seems somewhat hasty in my opinion sir. We have no idea if their intentions are hostile."  
"I'll make the calls here thank you Data." Riker sneered. "This is just a precaution. Worf, get a lock on it, but hold your fire... for the moment."  
"Aye sir." Worf announced. "We are being hailed."  
"On screen."  
The viewscreen changed, and the most smug-looking Romulan Riker had ever seen came into view. To the rest of the crew, it just looked like another ordinary Romulan. Oldish, a veteran of the wars, no doubt. But to Riker, this was a stuck-up little snob who needed a few adjustments to his backside.  
"Greetings, human." He began, in a voice which sounded more like he was saying 'You make me sick.' "I am Captain Vaas of the Romulan Empire. What is your business in Romulan space?"  
The moodiness pendulum was swinging... wider... wider...  
Riker replied in a voice saying 'You pathetic little bucket of snot'. "This is Commander William Riker of the Federation Starship Enterprise. By our charts this is not Romulan space, we are in frontier space. What the hell are you talking about?"  
Vaas looked shocked at this affront. What kind of greeting was that? Who does this little pathetic wretch think he is? "I forgive your ignorance, Commander Wiper, but we are here to make sure that you humans do not mess about where you're not supposed to. I repeat, what is your business here in Romulan space?"  
He wants a game of one-upmanship, well he'll get one. "And I forgive your senility, Captain Vaastard, but we are here to make sure that you Romulans don't stick your hallucinogen-ridden noses into anyone elses business as you used to. Our business here in this part of FRONTIER space is to leave and return to base. Who are you to ask?"  
Every ensign on the bridge was sniggering at this duel, and every officer was hoping this wouldn't start a war, except Data who was still trying to work out what hope was and what was funny. 'What had come over Riker all of a sudden?' most of the bridge was thinking. "Has he been at Worf's Blood Wine again?" an Ensign whispered.  
Vaas was somewhat taken back. He resorted to brutal ridicule. "Well I'm very sorry children, but I can't let you play here. You're not allowed out this far into space. Now change course before I give your botty a thorough spanking!" He laughed momentarily before the link was cut and the viewscreen reverted to the Romulan cruiser.  
Wider... wider...  
For a few seconds all was quiet. Riker was fuming, still staring at the screen, his nostrils flaring.  
"Sir," Worf began, "We are receiving a message from the Romulan ship. It appears to be a set of bearings they wish us to continue on. Shall I--"  
"No!" Riker shouted. "Don't even think about it! Damnable Romulans trying to tell us what to do! Send a reply."  
Worf pressed a few buttons "What is the message sir?"  
Riker paused for a few moments. "Fuck you." He said matter-of-factly.  
Worf paused for a lot more moments. "Pardon me sir?"  
"You heard me, Lieutenant!" Riker shouted, his eyes turning bloodshot. Was he pissed off...  
"Yes sir. Message sent." This will start another war, Worf mused. "I think he's been at the dilithium crystals." another Ensign whispered.  
"They are hailing us again sir."  
"Don't bother with it. Data, continue on previous course." Riker responded dismissively.  
"Yes sir."  
Worf chirped up again. "Incoming message."  
The voice of Vaas echoed around the bridge. He was clearly angry. "How DARE you speak to a Captain of the Romulan Empire with such insolence! I demand an apology..."  
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Riker shouted out.  
"...and that you change course to the bearing that we requested immediately!"  
Wider... wider...  
"I've had enough of this prick." Riker spat out, more rhetorically than anything else. His face was crimson, and his fists were clenched. "Belay that, Data. Worf?"  
"Sir?"  
"Fire. Two torpedoes, no warning shots."  
Worf's eyes widened further than they ever had. The entire bridge turned to him and gasped. Data was the first to protest. "Commander Riker, I again believe that you are acting too aggressively. Both you and Captain Vaas are too enraged to think coherently. Perhaps Captain Picard should negotiate further..."  
Riker ignored Data completely. "Fine! I'll do it then." he shouted, and pressed a button on his chair, firing the torpedoes himself. "Now THAT, Data, is effective negotiating. I think you'll find that they'll fall into line pretty quickly now."  
The cruiser was completely unprepared. Their shields weren't up and only came up in time to stop the second torpedo. The first shot hit the lower hull, and the second did plenty of damage as well, since the shields were far from fully powered at that stage.  
"Report, Mr. Worf?"  
Worf was completely dumbfounded. He took a few seconds to get himself together again before answering. "Romulans have sustained heavy damage. Their warp core has been breached, main engineering has been decompressed, estimate 60 casualties. Warp core damage may destroy the entire ship."  
"That's much better. Hail them." Riker said without a hint of pleasure. However when he saw Vaas's face on the viewscreen, his smile beamed out.  
"What the hell are you doing you stupid bastard!!?" Vaas spluttered, his finely-chiseled face contorted in rage. "Firing on us like that, what's your problem?"  
Riker responded in tones of mock pride. "How DARE you speak to a Commander of the Federation with such insolence! I demand an apology, and that you stop behaving like a stuck-up little dickwhacker immediately!"  
Vaas looked stunned. "I... I... but... huh..." he stammered for a while.  
Riker turned around. "Turn it off Worf. Data, continue previous course, warp three. Right, now that's more like it... about time we showed what we're capable of... show them all that we can stand up for ourselves... for what is right... fed up with that Picard and his hippie attitude to combat, I don't know. Data! How many times has Picard surrendered to any attackers?"  
"Seven, sir."  
"See?" Riker exclaimed. "The man's a weakling! He simply refuses to stand up and fight! Always the bloody diplomat. Oh yes, he can over-annunciate and sound very poetic, how wonderful. Tell that to a Klingon warlord! Makes me sick."  
A long pause followed. Riker turned from Data and looked at Worf, who was avoiding Riker's looks at all costs. 'What's going on here?' thought Riker.  
"It is interesting to hear your opinions on my style of command, Riker." Picard stated. He'd come in after he saw the torpedo shots to find out just what was going on. "And having just witnessed yours, I find your views somewhat lacking depth, Lieutenant."  
Riker stared back at Picard. "Commander, sir."  
"Nothing is forever, William." Picard warned. "Data, you have the conn. Oh, and Data, disregard any advice the Commander may have given you today. Riker... follow me..."  
  
As it turned out, Riker did not start a war thanks to his actions - at least not an official one, anyway - however it was largely thanks to him that the Romulan Empire was so successful in the next round of negotiations over control of the Neutral Zone. When initially questioned on his actions he was completely unrepentant - like a motorist who shoots another motorist whilst in a road rage, and then tells the judge "No one gives me the finger!"  
Within three weeks, the Enterprise was rated the second most dangerous thing in the universe ahead of the entire Borg collective, pipped at the post only by an ill-advised follow-up to the Voyager probe; an ancient Earth satellite which broadcast Spice Girls songs in a somewhat misguided attempt to be friendly. No one dared face that. This probe was, in fact, the sole cause for the Borg attempt to exterminate humanity by attacking the Cochrane rocket.  
  
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WEEK 2, DAY 2  
  
Beverly decided to answer Picard & Riker's questions about what was happening to them. This is going to be wonderful, just seeing their faces - how the hell am I going to keep a straight face? But seriously, how do I explain it? I can hardly tell them I did it. What about...  
  
"Captain, Commander" Beverly greeted them both in turn. "I have managed to find out why you are suffering from the urinal bleeding, amongst other things."  
"Yes..." Riker prompted.  
Beverly paused for effect. Quickly looking at both of them, she forewarned "You are not going to believe this."  
"Well let's find out, shall we?"  
"Okay. From what I have gathered, you are both showing every sign of going through the menstrual cycle."  
Both the men froze in disbelief. Menstrual? Isn't that... no, it can't be! But, what else? "Sorry?" ventured Riker.  
"You are having periods."  
Riker passed out on the spot. Picard had a nervous breakdown on the spot (today he had a period). "WHAT!?"  
"That's exactly it. You are having periods. Don't ask me how, but you are."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yes, I'm sure. You both show every sign of it. The pre-menstrual tension, cramps, the blood matches. It's all there."  
"But... butbutbut..." Picard was searching for an excuse. He settled on "But that's impossible!"  
"I know. But it's happening."  
"How!?"  
Beverly assumed a confused look. "I can't be sure. We did go through that nebula cloud with an unknown radiation type the day before you got your first flow, didn't we?"  
"Yes we did... could that have done it?" Poor Picard was desperately trying to find something certain to cling onto.  
Beverly smiled. 'If the worst came to the worst, I can still blame something else and have no retribution whatsoever.' "That's all I can think of. Now I don't know if it's affected anyone else," Hold in the smile, Beverly, don't crack up now, this is supposed to be serious, "so I'll be doing some checks later on. But in the meantime, you need to know your cycle. I'll tell Riker about it later."  
"Cycles? Sorry Beverly, but I'm not big on the terminology."  
Beverly let out an impatient breath. How could they be so ignorant? She took up the voice of a parent trying to teach a child how to count to two. "Okay, you now have what's called a menstrual cycle. This ends when you have your period, and then starts again. Hence, cycle. Understand?"  
Picard nodded. "Okay, so how long does my cycle take to repeat itself?"  
Again, Beverly got annoyed. Well how long was it between the first and the second periods you idiot! "Three days. That's unbelievably short I might add."  
"But why is it this bad? I mean, you don't behave this irrationally at that time, do you?"  
"No Captain... but your mind and body are not used to this sort of thing at all. Quite a suprise, yes?"  
"Very much so."  
"Not to mention the fact that such a strong emotional rush is not something you're used to. Your responses are, quite understandably, a lot stronger that the typical one. The radiation might also be a factor."  
Picard's head slumped. "This is all my fault." he said to his palms. ('Oooh, how right you are' Beverly thought.) "I told Riker to go through the cloud, what was I thinking? I was just so tired then, I couldn't make a good decision..." he trailed off. He blathered on for a while longer, before his dignity came back to him. "No matter then. How long is Riker's cycle?"  
"A week sir. I've created a calendar so that you'll know both when your future periods are, and also when any other crewmembers have theirs. You will, of course, need to know since you're the commanding officer."  
"How do you know there will be other crewmembers with it?" Picard asked.  
Think quickly Beverly. "If this radiation cloud caused this problem, and it is the only known probable cause, then it would hardly affect only two crewmembers. There will have to be more, and I shall add them as soon as I know who they are & what their cycle is."  
"Yes." Picard seemed satisfied with her answer. "Well, can you give me something to stop them then?"  
Beverly looked baffled. "No sir, there is no way to stop them."  
"Nothing?"  
"No sir."  
"Well find something then! I'm not going around like this all the time, understood? It's a nuisance!"  
Oh, is that all it is? You'll see... "Yes Captain."  
"Thank you doctor, keep up the good work." Picard stated, and pompously marched away.  
Beverly paused for a few seconds "I think after a while, your attitude will change Jean-Luc." She smiled, and looked down at the still motionless Riker. "And I know yours will."  
  
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WEEK 2, DAY 7  
  
Picard was checking the calendar more than his logbook lately. It was concerning him that more and more names were slowly being added to it. It was getting crowded. A few days were utterly jam-packed, sometimes entire sections would be out of action. But today, how bad would today be?  
Looking down the list, he ticked off the victims. "Forrester, Engineering... Reynolds, Security... Riker, 2IC... Riker? Oh dear..." his voice trailed off.  
"I'm pre-menstrual, and Riker's is today. Well, that doesn't matter! What difference could that make?" said Picard in carefree tones.  
Suddenly the room seemed awfully silent. As if the walls were horrified by his question. The silence gave Picard his answer - it could make a HUGE difference.  
He would soon learn it the hardest way.  
  
By the end of the day, the Enterprise had disabled a Klingon warbird, two Romulan ships, and their helmsman when he set the speed to Warp 6.5 instead of 6.4 . Riker and Picard had been arguing for most of their shift, some of which proved comical, some of which proved almost maniacal. So far Riker had attempted to start a mutiny twice, challenged Picard to a duel, and dismissed half the bridge crew. Picard had demoted Riker seventeen times, relieved him from duty four times, discharged him from Starfleet twice, and dismissed the other half of the bridge crew.  
In the middle of a conversation with a Starfleet Captain, Riker took objection to a completely innocent remark and immediately closed comms, and beamed over the entire ship's stock of communicable disease specimens the medical lab had for research, and made sure the glass containers didn't go over.  
Admiral Loenitz had tried to contact the Enterprise, and upon opening channels he saw two command officers alone on the bridge arguing about who should have pressed the open channel button. They ignored the Admiral completely, and when he tried to get their attention, the reply was "Do you mind? We're trying to have a serious discussion here!" In the end, they hung up on him.  
  
The next day Picard wondered why the confidence in his command was so low all of a sudden. He decided to prove his worth by challenging the entire bridge to an arm-wrestling competition. They politely declined, and simultaneously checked when they'd be going off duty.  
  
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WEEK 3, DAY 2  
  
The joy of revenge faded pretty quickly for Beverly. Having the commander of the ship in such an unbalanced state as Picard was making life dangerous. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all. 'I need to find a cure.' Bev thought. "It shouldn't be too hard, I know the basic chemical matrix of the cause, a counter-agent should be simple."  
There had been little progress. Beverly had managed to ease the discomfort slightly by supplying some kind of sanitary pads to the affected crewmembers. Unfortunately, given the 'point of exit', the mechanics of the design, the tightness of the uniform and the fact that the men had no idea how to use these things, those who used them walked around with a suspicious looking bulge. Lt. Junior Grade Harrisburg had such a heavy flow he thought it best that he wore three at a time, and as such gave himself such a huge lump that many ladies made his acquaintance, only to be disappointed later.  
  
Picard was having one of his very few good days, in-between period and PMT. He seemed very nervous about what was going on, since he didn't have much of an idea of what it was. Stepping into Sick Bay, he walked up to Beverly.  
"Doctor Crusher?"  
His monotone sounds very different now, thought Crusher. She couldn't help but smile as she looked up. "Yes sir, what is it?"  
"Have you... um... learnt any more about this 'male menstruation', as you call it?"  
"Not a lot, I'm afraid sir. It just seems more than a coincidence that we encountered the nebula cloud just when it started, that must be the cause. There is no other way."  
"Quite." agreed Picard. "How bad is the problem?"  
"Well, it's only affected the males from what I can tell, and at the last count 72 of the crew were suffering from it to various degrees, and I expect to find a lot more in the next few weeks."  
"Good lord..."  
"But I do know that not all the male crew is affected, but I'm afraid most of them are. I can't give much in the way of specific figures yet."  
"No matter. Are any other high officers affected, apart from Riker?"  
"Yes. Worf and Geordi also show signs of the condition. Riker's is particularly severe, although not as bad as yours."  
"Yes. And Data?"  
"No sir, he's showing no traces of it."  
"Good. I'll let you get back to work. Just how much information have you managed to find?"  
"So far I've isolated the chemical that caused it. I can reproduce it, but I have no idea how it came to enter the bloodstream."  
"That's not important right now." Picard stated. "Just find some way to stop it."  
"Aye sir."  
"Thank you." he said without a hint of a smile. Turning on his heel he strode purposefully out of Sick Bay as if nothing was the matter at all. He had to at least give some form of illusion that he was in control - even if it was for only one day out of three.  
Beverly shook her head. "How did I come to like that man?" 


	4. Worf Menstruating - Armageddon Nigh

WEEK 4, DAY 6  
  
Today was marked out in Beverly's diary as a day to stay inside, so to speak. The thought of Worf being angry was a dangerous one in itself, but Worf with PMS? Images of supernovae sprang to mind. "This could be lethal." Beverly muttered to herself, then after a few moments' reflection added "What do I mean, COULD be lethal? Worf's already short fuse won't even exist today." Thousands of scenarios ran through Bev's mind. The mixture of Worf in this state and being at the weapons computer gave an almost unlimited number of possibilities for disaster. She couldn't think of a way to avoid this - they didn't teach what to do in this scenario at the Academy.  
Beverly didn't believe in a God-like entity, but for some bizarre reason she had taken to praying for mercy all of a sudden. Q, the deity worshipped by everyone who enjoys being an annoying bastard, had dropped in a few days ago, but when he saw what was going on he decided things were quite bad enough already, and fled back to the Continuum in fear of catching something or having his immortality put to the test.  
Strangely enough, no one on the Enterprise ever thought of Klingon women with regards to menstruality - mainly because it wasn't a pretty thought. Klingons were impatient and temperamental enough, the thought of anything intensifying it grew a great sense of fear and sudden obedience.  
  
Worf did not have a good start to the day. He had, of course been forewarned that this would happen, but he had chosen to ignore it. Worf felt that he could keep his emotions and his temper under control. In response Beverly asked him when he'd learnt to lie to himself so well.  
  
One word could describe Worf's day:  
Rampage.  
If you loitered in the corridors, Worf 'encouraged' you to move along. If Worf felt you were walking too slowly, he would speed you up - but not tell you to speed up, HE would speed you up, usually with a foot. If you talked too loudly, Worf would make sure you were quiet. If you coughed or sneezed, thereby spreading possibly infectious diseases into the air, Worf would seal your faulty ventilation systems and throw you into quarantine - usually unconscious from having your air supply cut off. If Worf felt you were acting suspiciously, Worf would conduct a standard Klingon interrogation and beat the crap out of you until you confessed to something and everything. If Worf thought you weren't working fast enough he would court-martial you, but usually would skip that part and get straight to the punishment.  
And God help you if you tried to argue with him. Unfortunately, God decided that today he'd be a little less interventionist.   
  
But eventually Worf left duty (four hours late), returned to his quarters and went to sleep.  
And a great peace descended upon the land.  
Until the next day.  
  
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WEEK 4, DAY 7  
  
Worf was ready. He was ready for anything. He could take anything! Having spent the night regathering his thoughts and senses, he was ready to go back into the fray - the stares wouldn't affect him anymore. And as for the period itself, he told himself quite confidently "Something as small as that! It couldn't possibly affect me at all." he reassured himself. Worf kept this up for a solid hour before the moment finally arrived. "How could such a minor thing like that cloud my judgement... Such a thing is typically human, such weakness... I am more than ready for it, in fact I welcome this challenge!" Etcetera.  
Worf knew he was ready for it.  
It's coming any second now.  
It was 0914 ship time.  
"I'm ready for it."  
It came.  
  
Worf wasn't ready for it.  
  
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WEEK 4, DAY 7, 0914 07secs SHIP TIME  
  
Work on the Enterprise was paralysed. Throughout the entire saucer section there sounded a great agonised cry of suprise and contorted rage. This guttural, almost shrieking sound, reverberated through the decks, as if Hell itself had opened up and the voices of the damned ones bewailing their pain could be heard. For moments no one could move. The only thing that existed was that sound... that scream...  
After a few seconds it was replaced by the more familiar sound of Worf's swearing ringing through the decks. As one the crew recognised the by now familiar Klingon words, and got back to work. A few of the more perceptive crewmembers, however, made sudden realisations, and looked suddenly slightly worried. A few harried whispers were exchanged, some nods of assent, and pretty soon the verdict had spread around the entire ship. Worf's day had come.  
There was only one thing that they could do.  
Panic.  
It was if the teacher at pre-school had announced to the children that the boogeyman would be dropping by during sleep-time. The crew abandoned whatever they were doing, and immediately started running in all directions. "FLEE!! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!" was the cry that rang through the serried ranks. Eventually the retreat became slightly more organised, and the computer was being asked for Worf's location at an average of seven times every three seconds. The crewmember would check Worf's position, and plot a course to avoid him at ALL costs. The airducts became traffic jams for Ensigns seeking short cuts. People were being beaten up for Jeffries Tubes. Several of the more wily crewmembers made a killing by selling anti-security override chips for doors to quarters. Many turned their stun phasers on themselves. Not even the Borg could generate this level of fear and mass hysteria.  
Worf, however, was blissfully unaware of this. The hum of the engines and the echo of his footsteps was the only sound he could hear. The halls were barren. Not a soul. Quite confusing for him. "Still, no matter. Obviously the crew are no longer loitering around the corridors as they did before." he told himself as he did his rounds.  
  
An hour passed uneventfully, and very alone. He still hadn't seen anyone yet - by now he was getting suspicious. He had walked through Engineering not long ago, and nobody was there. No one in Engineering? Ridiculous!  
Just then, he heard footsteps. Heavy. Fast. Ragged breathing. Getting closer. At last! Someone to talk to, to find out what's going on!  
  
Ensign Walker was hopelessly lost. That in itself wasn't so bad - on the Enterprise it was easy to get from place to place with a computer happy to direct you every step of the way. The problem was Walker didn't know he was lost. Worse still, he thought he WASN'T lost.  
Being lost is bad enough. You have no idea of where you are, and the worst part is you have no idea of how to get to either a) where you're going, or b) anywhere where you have an idea of where you are. The blind wandering can lead you anywhere - sometimes to safer ground, but usually not. But when you don't know that you're lost things get difficult. The confidence you have when you think you know where you are makes you move a bit faster - leading you further and further off course. But when you think you AREN'T lost, you are guaranteed to end up on the wrong side of the continent.  
Walker was totally convinced that he was on Deck 14 heading towards his quarters. He was regularly checking the computers to see where Worf was, and it was telling him Worf was on Deck 17. "Fine! Almost there!" he told himself happily as he rounded a corner. "I got home without running into--"  
There he was.  
There HE was.  
Not five metres in front of Walker was the Klingon Pepe le Pew that any living being with a self-preservation instinct was avoiding - Worf. Walker suddenly found his legs had gone on strike from all this panicking, and refused to move any more. His jaw was hanging loose, and would have swung in the breeze if there was one.  
"Ensign Walker?" inquired Worf in his usual tones.  
Walker had temporarily lost the use of the English language. "Huuuuhhh... wheeiiiii... bbbbrrrrraaaaahhhh..." he moaned out, still not moving his jaw. What Walker couldn't know was he had actually spoken an as yet unencountered dialect known as Si'rith, and he had just asked Worf if the fire was put out yet. In the meantime his legs were starting negotiations with the Jello Corporation as a new flavour - Panic Passionfruit.  
"Is there something wrong?" Worf continued, the most idiotic of questions. Walker had just lost a pound in weight with a method which normally required a bilge pump, a shower and a change of underwear. He blinked, lifted his head slightly, and his face formed a look of recognition. Everything that had happened before was purely instinctive. Now Walker was hit by the full realisation that Worf was standing in front of him, and he immediately passed out, landing with a wet thud.  
  
Worf simply couldn't understand it. Not only did it seem that nobody was going near him, but Picard had just excused him from duty on the bridge without giving a reason (in reality, Picard had foreseen this weeks earlier). When word of this spread the Enterprise let out a collective sigh of relief.  
By now Worf was getting annoyed. He could not understand why everyone was avoiding him, and whenever he tried to find someone to ask about it, he couldn't find them. He couldn't find anybody for that matter. No one was responding to his communicator hails, when he tried to get onto the bridge he was ordered off without even getting a word in. In desperation he tried to talk to Guinan, but she wasn't in 10 Forward as expected, although Worf swore he saw a teardrop-shaped hat behind the bar move.  
As it happened, the isolation was irritating him far more than anything else he could have encountered (apart from a few alien diplomats). By now Worf was stomping around the ship, searching for signs of life. None came - no one else was sill enough to repeat Walker's mistake, Worf thought.  
Walker!  
Of course! I'll go and talk to Walker - doesn't look like he'll be doing much. "Computer, give position of Ensign Walker."  
"Ensign Walker is in Sickbay."  
"Excellent."  
  
Worf came storming into Sickbay like a Visigoth on the warpath. Ignoring the seven crewmembers who ran out before he had come in, he strode over to Walker, who lay in a med-sarcophagus, still unconscious.  
A medical orderly approached him, looking like he was in an advanced state of Parkinson's Disease. "Can I help you with anything, sir?" Medical Officer Patrice said in a voice of a McDonalds drive-thru worker.  
"I want to talk to Ensign Walker." Worf stated in a voice that combined demand, threat and just-try-and-say-no.  
"I'm... uh..." Patrice didn't want to refuse his request (for self-preservation reasons), and there was only one thing that stopped him from allowing it. Namely, the laws of nature. Walker was in shock, and wasn't taking any calls.  
"Well?"  
"He... uh... cannot be disturbed right now." Patrice tried to sound like someone with authority. It came out sounding like a kid that Urkel would bully.  
Worf looked down at Walker. "He looks alright to me."  
"He's in an advanced state of shock. It is best th--"  
Worf ignored him completely, and decided that Walker could be woken up, with a little encouragement. To that end, he started slapping Walker's face about a bit. Only gentle, swaying strokes, lightly knocking Walker about the sarcophagus.  
"Ahhh... you can't do..." Patrice tried to object, until he remembered who he was dealing with, realised that it was completely futile, and joined the rest of the crew by fleeing to his quarters.  
Worf paid him no heed. With a little more of Worf's persuasion Walker was starting to wake up. He looked up, saw Worf, and had a heart attack.  
At least, it felt like one. He felt a sudden pain, and then it was as if his entire body was being drained of blood. In actual fact, he had just repeated the weight loss technique he'd done earlier. His panic caused him to kick wildly, damaging the equipment and sending sparks flying. He felt an amazing electrical current flow into his nether regions, and he jumped out of the sarcophagus out of instinct.  
The combined panic and shock had now woken him up completely, and he got his wits back about him.  
He saw Worf again.  
He lost his wits again.  
"Walker, I'd like to talk to you."  
"Ha...huu dan hu ee!" Walker jabbered out.  
"What's your problem!?" Worf asked in his interrogation voice.  
"Hook, hut dan hu ee! Ees!" In waking him up, Worf had broken Walker's jaw, which was locked permanently open. Communication was difficult. This did not please Worf.  
"Why were you running away from me!?"  
"Hee er aird!"  
"WHAT!!?"  
"Aird!! Oh ees!"  
"Dammit, answer me!!!!"  
"I hyin!"  
  
The interrogation moved on, in traditional Klingon fashion.  
  
By the end of it, Walker had four cracked ribs, fractured both his femurs, bruises to thirty percent of his body, and his weight loss program had allowed him to lose a further three kilos. And Worf still didn't have any answers. In the end, he gave up, went back to his quarters and got some sleep. He was in there two hours before anyone had the guts to leave their quarters. 


	5. Geordi Doubtfire - A New Era Of Cleanlin...

WEEK 5, DAY 3  
  
"This is not good." Dr. Crusher intoned.  
For weeks she had been working on a cure, but for the life of her she couldn't find anything. MM was simple enough, as was the gas that triggered it, but when they reacted something happened that she couldn't simulate, or find out exactly how it happened. All she knew was somehow, 'it' happened.  
The scope of the problem was full known. Everybody knew how many victims there were, if they were one of them, and the warning signs for when to avoid someone. The most unfortunate ones were those that didn't know how long their cycle would take, and were living in fear of themselves every day. "It's coming, I know it. When is it? Is it today? Was that it!? Oh, just my stomach."  
It was ordered that anyone suffering from MM had to wear a patch at all times to let the rest of the crew know that they were sufferers. The patch was made so that it turned red when the person in question was ovulating or pre-menstrual, so if someone was seen with a red patch he was treated very gently, but usually avoided if possible. For some people it brought back legends of WWII Germany. As days went by the MM victims who were at the completion of their cycles were referred to as Marked.  
"What have you found?" stammered Picard. By now he was quite paranoid about what his body was doing to him, his reputation and the rest of the known universe. The practice of the officer on duty threatening to disintegrate any ship they encountered was becoming routine.  
"Okay, I have no idea of how to cure it. The solution that causes it is like nothing I've seen before. I'm not getting anywhere with this. It does seem that the amount of the chemical dictates the time between cycles. But there's a catalyst as well that I can't find. Once I find it, then I could probably get somewhere." Of course Beverly knew everything about the catalyst (having created it), but she needed an excuse for not having any results yet.  
"Is that all?"  
"Only one other thing, I have discovered that the effects will eventually fade away."  
"When?" Picard's eyes lit up.  
"After thirty cycles, I'm afraid."  
Picard seemed to shrink, as if he was trying to hide inside himself. "Thirty? How much longer will I have to put up with this if there isn't a cure?"  
"Another eight weeks."  
"Oh no..."  
"Sorry sir, this shouldn't be happening! I don't know why."  
  
After a little comforting, Picard eventually pulled his pride back to the forefront. "Alright then. I'll just have to cope." He turned to Dr. Crusher. "Thank you Beverly, I know you're trying."  
Crusher saw genuine appreciation in his eyes. 'At last he's learnt his lesson' she decided. "You're welcome sir. I know exactly what you're going through, trust me."  
"I know, I know." He paused for a while as if he had something else to say, but instead he abruptly walked away.  
"Poor thing." Bev told herself. "Eight more weeks of this, at least it's rubbing off on him. Just when is Will going to learn?"  
  
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WEEK 6, DAY 6  
  
Today it was Geordi's turn to feel the introduction to Mother Nature's cruel practical joke on her daughters gone awry. He was never too pleased about it after Dr. Crusher warned him about what would probably happen. But like all the other men before him, he had proceeded with a carefree It-Can't-Stop-Me-I'm-Invincible attitude the first time it came along.  
And like all the other men before him, he would regret it.  
  
The pre-menstrual syndrome had caused a sudden change to come over Geordi - he had gone into a cleaning frenzy. He decided that it had been far too long since the warp drive had been cleaned (when actually it had only been three weeks).  
"Engineering to Bridge." Geordi announced.  
Silence. More silence. "Engineering to Bridge!" Geordi insisted.  
Still nothing. "What's wrong with my badge? Why isn't it working?" he said to himself, somewhat annoyed.  
"You didn't activate it." a passing Ensign Cullinan answered nonchalantly.  
Geordi stared at Cullinan as he walked away. "Thanks Cullinan!" he called out. "...ya fat ugly slob." he finished after Cullinan had turned the corner. "Engineering to Bridge." he repeated after hitting his comm badge.  
"Go ahead LaForge." Riker replied.  
"We may have to shut down our engines temporarily. The warp core components are due for a cleaning."  
"What?" Riker asked incredulously.  
"We need to clean the warp drive."  
"Geordi, the drive was given a thorough cleaning three weeks ago. Why do you need to have it done again?"  
"How do you know it was done?" Geordi said accusingly.  
"Because Data told me that he had done it." Riker firmly rebutted, his limited patience evaporating rapidly. Riker's Marked today, Geordi remembered.  
"Well it's best to be sure sir." He replied firmly. "The warp drive will be shut down for six hours. LaForge out."  
"Lieutenant you're not--" Geordi turned his badge off, and threw himself into giving the dilithium crystals a good polishing.  
  
Despite all his attempts Riker could not persuade Geordi that the warp drive was already clean, and that a few specks of hypothetical dust actually wouldn't cause a breach in the warp core. Geordi was cleaning the drive, and that was that. The argument was very heated thanks to the two combined Marked men, and was on the verge of violence a few times. If someone had come in and learnt that an argument this strong was over the supposed existence or non-existence of some dust, they would have sprinted for the straight-jackets. Some considered sending for Picard to resolve this, but upon discovering that he too was Marked, the idea was quickly abandoned.  
After half an hour of debating, arguing and threatening, Riker finally surrendered. "Fine! Have it your way! But do you have to do it on your own? We can't just sit here for six hours, we've got orders to fulfill!"  
"Well yes I do have to do it alone, actually!" Geordi insisted. "I can't trust anyone else with this kind of delicate operation. My apologies if I offended anyone."  
"What about Data then?"  
Geordi's will faltered. Damn. I can't say Data can't do it. But I have to make sure! I'll just watch him do it with me. We won't be separated. "Yes, Data would be a help." He replied smoothly, without a hint of giving in.  
  
For a while the job went along just fine. An hour went by, and it looked like they'd be done in another two. As usual, the pair were chatting away, having an amiable chat about just about anything.  
Until Data brought up the ultimate in wrong subjects.  
  
Geordi was having a ball of a time so far tearing strips off Riker and Picard. Lately their behavior had been an abundant source of combined wonder, concern and hilarity. Data, however, was being somewhat unresponsive to Geordi's bursts of laughter - no suprises there.  
"That was brilliant, wasn't it?" Geordi gleefully cried after relating another story.  
"I am not sure." Data responded in his usual polite tone. "I do find it somewhat disturbing."  
"No! No! It's a laugh! Watching them running around like that is such a scream!" Geordi was in raptures as he buffed a cylinder head.  
"Be that as it may, I do believe the presence of MM on the Enterprise is a somewhat unbalancing factor."  
At the mention of MM, Geordi became very sullen. "Yes... well... it does make things a little difficult."  
"Quite." Data intoned, but with an edge to his voice LaForge couldn't identify.  
"What? What's the matter?"  
For a moment Data looked unsure, as if he wasn't sure how to start (which was exactly right). "It is just... for some reason I think that it is somewhat disappointing that those infected with MM view it as some kind of disease."  
Geordi was purely astonished. He turned and faced Data directly. "Well how do you see it?" he asked in some aggravation.  
Data did not return his stare. "It could be seen as a chance to see the other side of certain things. To see how females must feel. I would certainly like to have this kind of opportunity."  
"Opportunity? OPPORTUNITY!!!" Geordi shrieked. "Trust me Data, this is NOT an opportunity! It is a sickness, plain and simple! End of story!"  
Now Data turned to face LaForge. "I think that comment is very callous, Geordi. It is a complex part of nature, not an illness."  
"For women, yes! But for MEN, no! I don't enjoy the prospect of bleeding every six weeks for the next 3 years, and I certainly don't consider being this annoyed an OPPORTUNITY!!" raged Geordi.  
"I do not mean to--"  
"Look! Just forget it, okay!" Geordi snapped. "Just forget I ever mentioned it. Alright?"  
"What, that you were suffering from--"  
"YES!!!!"  
Data stared at him vacantly for a few moments. "Certainly."  
"Thank you!" Geordi heaved out in satisfaction. At last he'll shut up about it.  
Data certainly did forget it. He deleted all recorded entries that Geordi was suffering from MM or periods, and to be certain set up a subroutine that would ensure that if he heard Geordi mention it, the memory would immediately be removed.  
Once this was done, of course, there was nothing to hold Data back. Geordi wouldn't mind answering questions about it since he wasn't personally involved with it. Not to mention he could give an objective opinion on its' emotional effects.  
"Do you know what it is like?"  
"What?"  
"Having a period."  
"I thought I told you not to talk about it."  
"Do not talk about what, Geordi?"  
"ME HAVING PERIODS!!"  
-zzt- the memory was deleted. "What, Geordi?"  
"AREN'T YOU LISTENING!!!?"  
"Of course."  
"THEN WHY ARE YOU STILL TALKING ABOUT IT?!!"  
"I am sorry, Geordi. I do not remember you telling me."  
LaForge sucked in his breath. 'Sometimes a machine doesn't make a good friend' he thought. "Never mind Data. You're still learning."  
Data paused to finish clearing the coolant pipes, when he continued unabated. "But as I was saying, what do you think it is like?"  
"Data!"  
"Yes?"  
"I told you not to mention that!!"  
"Did I mention that before?"  
"Yes!" Geordi raged.  
"When?"  
"Half a minute ago!"  
"Oh." Data paused. "I do not remember mentioning anything at all."  
"Well you did. Alright?!"  
"What did I mention?"  
"Oh God! Do I have to spell it out?"  
"Spell what out, Geordi?"  
"MM!!!! ME AND A LOT OF THE CREW ARE HAVING PERIODS!!!!!!!!!!!"  
-zzt- Again, the reference to Geordi was deleted. "Oh. Was that what you said? How many?"  
Geordi let out a deep, rumbling groan. "This is my first."  
Data held a quizzical look. "First what? I meant how many of the crew have MM?"  
"What?!" Geordi looked hurt. "Don't you care about me?"  
Data looked confused. "Why should I? You do not have MM. But it is quite worrying that so ma--"  
"I just told you! I do have it!"  
-zzt- "You only told me a lot of the crew had MM."  
"Yes, and I told you I did too!"  
-zzt- "Yes."  
"YES!!" Geordi shouted, starting to hyperventilate.  
"So, why should I be concerned about you? Do some sufferers of this virus concern you?"  
"No, Data. You should be concerned because I DO have it-" -zzt- "-and I am rapidly losing my patience with you denying it!!!"  
"I am denying what?"  
Behind his VISOR Geordi's eyes were growing bloodshot. "That I have MM!!!"  
-zzt- Data waited expectantly. "What am I denying, Geordi?"  
"Data, is this some sort of game?"  
"No, Geordi. Why would I play a game on such a delicate subject?"  
"I don't know!! Just why are you deliberately annoying me, especially in this state!?"  
"I am not trying to annoy you. And what 'state' are you in?"  
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT STATE!!!!!??" Geordi exploded, his fists tightly clenched. "THE STATE OF ME HAVING A PERIOD AND THE SHOCK OF IT!!!!"  
-zzt- "The shock of what, Geordi?"  
"Ohhhhhhh!!! I've had enough of you!!! Just get out, alright?! Out!! OUT!!!!!"  
And despite the fact that Data was far stronger than Geordi and a lot heavier, his rage was so powerful that Geordi actually managed to throw Data out of Engineering. "AND NEVER SPEAK TO ME AGAIN!!!" Geordi shrieked. "YOU INSENSITIVE PRICK!!!"  
  
Data was utterly confused. Why were so many people getting angry at me all of a sudden? It must be because of the MM problem, yes. But why Geordi? He does not have it, I must ask him about it - but he gave me an order not to speak to him. But Commander Riker gave me an order to assist Geordi in cleaning the warp drive. That has priority.  
So Data strode back into Engineering, all eyes staring wide-eyed at him. Without a hint of discomfort he walked into the shut down warp core chamber, and continued the task as if there were no interruption. Geordi was staring at him.  
"I thought I told you to get out." He said menacingly.  
Data did not even flinch. It was as if he didn't hear him, though he clearly would have. "Data!! I told you to get out, and I meant it!! You've hurt my feelings!"  
No movement. "DATA I'M WARNING YOU!!!" Geordi roared.  
Poor Data had no idea how to handle this. 'Geordi is insisting I leave, but I cannot break my orders.' He wanted to explain this problem to Geordi, but he couldn't speak to him. And all the while Geordi was shouting at him. 'What should I do? What should I do?'  
In the end LaForge, with the help of a taser, made the decision for him. One electrical surge and Data was down for the count, and the count would end up in triple figures. He was unceremoniously 'escorted' from Engineering, and dumped outside the range of the sensor for the door.  
Geordi went back to his beloved cleaning in a frenzy, and pretty soon the cleaning seemed to soothe him. He went into a lull of tranquility, induced by the freshness of the scene. The sweet, sweet smell of the cleaning agent. What is that? Pine, always pine. He took a deep, long breath of air, and promptly fell unconscious from the fumes of the disinfectant.  
  
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WEEK 6, DAY 7  
  
Not even her wedding could compare to the level of emotion running through Beverly's mind. It was just at the wedding it was a feeling of love, here it was a mixture of worry and guilt. Everywhere she went there were reminders of the curse of the Marked. Red badges flared, especially today - this being a common day. But the real sight that made the effect hit home for Beverly was in 10 Forward.  
  
She had gone there purely as a distraction, but there she saw something that she wished that she hadn't.  
It wasn't anything special. It was just a man - Lt. Junior Grade Morrison. A very likeable, if occasionally patronizing fellow. Beverly knew him from Engineering - he was one of the few engineers who were competent in repairing medical equipment. Occasionally he filled in at Sickbay when there was a shortage of medical officers.  
Looking at him, Beverly was shocked at what had happened to him. She remembered that he was one of the early patients to come through when the "epidemic" swept the ship - before she started using her discretion in who received the MM shot and who didn't. Had she thought of it earlier, she never would have given it to him. As it happened, he had been given the weekly dose.  
But here he was, the patch on his chest red as his bloodshot eyes. He looked terrible. The lines in his face had grown much deeper. He'd lost a lot of weight, and his skin was very pale. His hand was trembling slightly. His eyes seemed to have sunk deeper into his face, and were wide open in a familiar expression. She'd seen it on the face of some prisoners rescued from an unfriendly alien military camp on Rajiv IV. The signs of torture were obvious on them. And just like them, Morrison barely moved. With his jaw hanging open slightly and the only perceptible movement being his chest when he breathed, Morrison looked for all worth a mannequin. On top of that, the bulge in his pants where the sanitary pad sat only made him look ludicrous.  
Morrison was a kind, but sensitive man. He could handle just about any situation without too much fuss. A warp core breach, antimatter leakages - no sweat for him. But emotionally he was already very brittle. And MM came along, and gave him a sledgehammer blow to the head. He just wasn't quite in touch with his emotions as much as most. Six great emotional explosions later, he looked drained. Empty. Crusher couldn't look at him anymore, so she got up and left, giving him a pat on the back as she went.  
Four hours later she came back with Deanna for a little socialising, and he was still there. He hadn't moved, not even an inch. She tried talking to him, and got no response whatsoever. Troi tried to sense any emotions, and she did - she burst into tears. Beverly called in a medical team, and they carried him away.  
He never spoke again. He never even moved again. His already unsteady grip on reality, only held up for this long by the facade of the generous, smiling, happy man, had been wrenched away. It would never come back.   
As many men do when they feel overly emotional (after they admit they actually do have emotions), Morrison had been reliving all the highly emotional times in his life. Every laugh, every memory, every tear, every scrap of pain had come back to him. And on that sixth time, he had snapped. Occasionally Troi would attempt to look into his mind and see what was going through it, but it was always either pure pain, or nothing whatsoever. All attempts to make contact to whatever place he was in were met with more catatonia. The medical team knew he probably would never, in a sense, live again, but still he clung on to life. He only needed to be fed intravenously. He lived like this for another 28 years.  
  
"Their emotional responses are that much stronger because the men are so unfamiliar with it." Beverly had thought. "They have no experience with this kind of sudden change. It's quite a culture shock for them." She remembered her first experiences with menstruality. The first few times were tough enough, and she had plenty of time to prepare herself. She knew everything that there was to know about it, done all she could to be ready for the onset, but still it hit her pretty hard. The men here had no warning. They knew nothing, suspected nothing, not to mention not being quite as in touch with their emotional sides as women. Nobody ever told them anything about it - it was always a taboo subject.  
  
This inspired Beverly to redouble her efforts to find a solution, but the same no answer came back to her every time. 


	6. Look Who's Coming For Dinner...

WEEK 8, DAY 7  
  
Now was the winter of the Enterprises' discontent. Once again, the crew prepared themselves for Worf's impending meltdown and nuclear explosion. They were all ready for yet another day of mass hysteria and panic.  
The previous day Worf was due to be first "in the red", so to speak. Ensign Walker, who had the cruel misfortune of running into Worf last time, was so panicky of the thought of Worf wandering the corridors like that again that he actually shot Worf. Luckily, the phaser was on stun so no major damage was done. Walker was arrested and put in the brig - where his appreciative crewmates came round and gave him everything he could possibly ask for as a reward for saving them, even if it was just for one day.  
This time, however, Worf made sure the rest of the crew couldn't escape. There would be nobody cowering in their quarters today! Ohhhh no! Worf had placed a bar on the computer, not allowing anyone to return into their quarters whilst he was on duty. In essence, he was locking everyone out of their houses once they left.  
He barred the Jeffries Tubes. He barred the air ducts from entry. He barred the service ducts. He barred the escape pods. He barred the holodecks. Every possible means of isolation.  
There would be no way to avoid him.  
  
Worf decided to make this a little more interesting. Just before he left the Security offices he made an announcement over the PA system: "Attention all personnel. This is Lieutenant Worf speaking, giving notice that I will be on duty in five minutes, repeat five minutes. That is all."  
The result was exactly as he expected. Even before his finger had reached the SPEAKER button to turn it off, he heard massed footsteps running outside the door. He allowed himself a grin as he thought about what the crew would do when they realised that their quarters were locked.  
  
The first wave of panic hit the Enterprise after the announcement was finished. Everyone did wonder, however, just why Worf had given notice that he was going on duty. But that thought was pushed aside quickly - there were more important things to do right now!  
  
Lt. Junior Grade Denver had joined the mob, all seeking the safe sanctuary of their quarters. He had run and run and run like never before. His concern was so great that he paid no attention to anyone around him at all. In his mind there existed one thing: Home. Nothing else mattered. Finally, he found his quarters. He sprinted into the entrance, and neatly bounced off it.  
The door didn't open.  
Denver looked up quizzically. Bringing himself to his feet, he slowly approached his door, waiting for the sensor to see him and let him in.  
It didn't.  
Only now did he get a firm grip on himself and took control of the situation. He knew something was wrong.  
Very wrong.  
Looking around, he saw that he wasn't the only one having door trouble. In fact, everyone else in the corridor was trying, in some way, shape or form, to open their door. None of them were succeeding. He saw Robertson kicking at the door. Ur'uk was shrieking every command he could think of at the computer. Wessers was slowly moving around, trying to trigger off the sensor. Dray was trying to shoot the door down.  
Denver, being a somewhat perceptive young recruit, saw a pattern here. Something was barring all entry to personal quarters. "Computer, undo lock on personal quarters."  
"Quarters not locked."  
"State reason for refusal of entry."  
"Re-entry into quarters has been security barred by Lieutenant Worf."  
"Initiate de-activation sequence!" Denver knew this wouldn't work, but he wanted to see how the bar was put on so he could find a way for it to be removed.  
"Request denied. Bar on timer de-activation."  
"Give time for de-activation."  
"Bar will be de-activated in 10 hours and two minutes."  
When Worf goes off duty, Denver thought. The full hopelessness of the situation started to hit him. Paranoia began to set in. "Computer, where is Lieutenant Worf?"  
"That information is security classified. Request denied." came the answer.  
Denver felt like he was in a labyrinth with the minotaur - only here he didn't have a ball of string or a sword to slay the dreaded monster. "What can I do? WHAT CAN I DO!?" he kept repeating to himself. Eventually, self-control surrendered itself to the inevitable, and madness took over. Denver sprinted down the corridor, shrieking out like some insane doomsday preacher "THERE'S NO ESCAPE! PANIC!!!!!"  
One by one, the crew made the same discovery as poor Denver. Their quarters were inaccessible - find another hiding place! And sure enough, they tried everything that Worf had thought of. The air vents were sealed, the service ducts shut off, Jeffries tubes locked and unopenable. Only the corridors and all public areas were accessible, and Worf had ensured none of them could be locked. Every corridor of the ship had a terrified mob running through it, pleading with the computer for some kind of sanctuary. None came.  
The seconds ticked by, and the moment arrived. As if Worf was playing Tag or Hide-And-Seek with the entire ship, he counted down the five minutes until he was on duty.  
Once the five minutes were up, Worf turned on the PA again, and let out a great battle cry, freezing everyone in their tracks. And to finish the job, he added "I'M COMING!!!" Then, very calmly, he stepped out of his office to a deserted corridor. The crew knew where he had started from. With a wry smile on his face, Worf started down the western corridor to see who he could find.  
What followed could scarcely be described (consequently I won't attempt to describe it). But for the entire day Worf was happily strolling along, even skipping occasionally, and watching everybody flee in horror on the sight of him. He felt great! In fact he had hardly felt better, except perhaps for when he first discovered that his part A actually could fit into slot B on Counselor Troi. He had set up various cameras, which were recording the anarchy for his own posterity. HE had caused this. He had created this fear, and a tremendous feeling of power raged through him. Every time he felt down, he could break out one of those tapes and laugh and laugh.  
Q had seen what was going on, and was laughing like nothing he had seen before. He couldn't help but get himself involved. First of all he dropped in on Worf and asked if he could play too - Worf was that cheerful he couldn't see why not. So Q made six more identical copies of Worf to wander the decks of the ship to make the crew completely terrified.  
It worked. Superlatively.  
Many of the crewmembers were running down the corridor until they saw Worf at the other end, only to turn around and see Worf at the other end five seconds later. One unfortunate group of Ensigns were cornered by three Worfs. It wasn't long before they passed out from their pulse being too high.  
For the poor crew, it was as if they had been trapped in the set of Alien. Pure paranoia and terror had ravaged the souls of the Enterprise, and suddenly a lot of retirement plans were made in people's minds. Others were making funeral or suicide plans.  
Beverly, of course, suspected the carnage that would eventuate and as such made sure she would not be on duty that day. In fact, she never even left her quarters - which was the only way to be safe from Worf. Of course, not many people had foreseen what he would, and could, do.  
Finally, the ten hours were up. Worf let out a breath in a contented sigh. It had been a good day. So slowly, he walked back to his quarters, unlocked everything, and announced over the PA "Attention please. I would like to announce that I am now going off duty." Then, in more happy tones, "See you again in four weeks!"  
  
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WEEK 12, DAY 4  
  
For the past four weeks life on the Enterprise was hectic to the point of danger. The curse of the Marked made the running of the ship change every day. On one very bad day half the security crew were Marked, and made a number of questionable arrests; including loitering with intent, offensive body language, willfully and with malice aforethought picking their nose, and creating a public disturbance by walking too loudly.  
Picard had become a kind of animal on the border of frenzy. He'd lost 15lbs and his hair line had retreated a further quarter-inch. And through all this he was totally unpredictable. On his good days (one out of three) he tried to be his usual self, but his patience was no longer the seemingly limitless thing that it was. On the OTHER two days however, he acted as if he had had a massive caffeine overdose. His actions and speech were manic, his decisions unreliable, and his well-being shot to hell and back and forth again. Picard was not having a good time with himself.  
Whilst watching the interplay between men who all of a sudden felt overly emotional and short-tempered did sometimes send Beverly into hysterics, it quite often did present enormous problems. A few fights had broken out all of a sudden, and the Captain was hardly ever in a state to make an objective judgement on anything. Last week Picard court-martialled the computer for not starching his uniform (when it actually did), and sentenced it to be hung by the neck until dead. When Troi pointed out that he couldn't execute the computer and that it didn't have a neck, Picard court-martialled her and sentenced her to be burned at the stake. In the end he had ordered the execution of thirty seven crewmembers, and was in such a frenzy he had to be tranquilized.  
Beverly soon learnt that the worst was about to arrive. The moment was going to arrive eventually, but there was no way of knowing that the timing would be so excruciatingly bad. Yet another Inspector was coming on board to assess the Enterprise. And, although the entire crew let out a sigh of relief - since it would stop Worf's planned game of Hide-And-Seek - as far as Beverly was concerned, the Inspector came at just the wrong moment.  
  
"Why are they giving us another inspection?" Beverly moaned as she cleaned up the Sick Bay. "Only been five months since the last one. She'll be here for four days, no hope of a rest with that old bag DeHirst."  
"I suppose they want to make sure." called Troi, who was helping her out. She didn't mind the inspection at all, especially since DeHirst knew she was an empath and thus would avoid her at all costs. She was once quoted as saying 'They might as well be spies for their Captains', which is just what they were. "It's been a bit hectic lately, that's common knowledge. Speaking of which, do you think the boys will be okay? You know, with their little curses?"  
"I don't know, I'll check their cycles." Bev put down the sterilizer, stepped over to a terminal, called up the calendar, and was immediately paralyzed.  
Troi wasn't looking. After about thirty seconds she looked up. Beverly was trembling. "Beverly?"  
No response. Troi got up and walked over. She tapped Bev's shoulder. "What is it?"  
Beverly didn't move. "We are doomed, Deanna. All doomed."  
Troi looked at the calendar. "Oh no...."  
There it was. The inspector would come tomorrow. The next day Picard, Riker, Worf AND LaForge would all have PMT. Plus about 140 of the crew, most of whom were on the very common 4 week dose. And then the next day would all suffer the real thing. The next day, DeHirst would leave. She would NOT have a good impression.  
"Better get that transfer request out, Deanna. We're all out of a job."  
  
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WEEK 12, DAY 5  
  
"Well, so far so good." Inspectorate-Commodore Sara DeHirst reluctantly admitted as she marched along the corridors.  
"Glad to hear it, Commodore." replied Picard reverentially. 'Praise from DeHirst? It's unheard of!' he thought. He allowed himself a momentary smile while DeHirst wasn't looking at him.  
"I think that concludes the guided tour. You know the usual procedure for my inspections." DeHirst remarked coldly.  
"Yes sir. Please proceed, the ship is yours." Picard turned on his heel and smartly walked away.  
"Patronizing twit." DeHirst mumbled as Picard walked away. She was growing tired of this kind of work. And with Father Time slowly battering down her door, she couldn't always gather the strength to do it. Well into her sixties, and with twenty-five years of field time behind her, she was certainly considered one of the veterans of the Alliance.  
She was also known for her complete lack of lenience. Penetrating the glass ceiling of Starfleet requires determination - you have to be hard and uncompromising, or a fairly good assassin. Off duty she was polite, but when she was on the job she made King Kong look like Bonzo. There had been few ships that had met her every standard, and plenty of Captains suddenly becoming Commanders after her reports were filed.  
Marching along, she stole a glance into Sick Bay, and saw Dr. Crusher looking positively suicidal. Stepping inside, Beverly immediately looked up, and jumped to attention. "Sir!" she announced.  
"That's enough, doctor. Your inspection's over." DeHirst solicited. "And spare me the sir crap, okay? I've seen it enough times to know when I'm being bullshitted."  
Beverly allowed herself a smile. "I can imagine." She sat down again and resumed her sullen look.  
"What's the matter?" asked DeHirst.  
"Oh trust me, you wouldn't believe it."  
"Try me." DeHirst rebutted with a smirk. She'd seen plenty in her time. And she'd heard plenty of excuses in her time as well. Here comes another one. What are they trying to pull on me now? Another alien possession story? How many times have I heard that one...  
"I don't know how to say this..." Bev started. How can I explain it?  
"Just tell it like it is." DeHirst impatiently spat out.  
That doesn't help. You won't believe THIS.  
"Um," Bev began, without any confidence. "Have you read my report I submitted to Command about the... male menstruation on this ship?"  
DeHirst looked utterly bewildered. "No. What about it?" she stumbled out, her patience rapidly returning. This is a new one...  
"We encountered... some form of nebula cloud with an unknown type of radiation about twelve weeks ago. After we went through it, many male members of the crew began to have something identical to a menstrual cycle. We have no idea how this happened, all we know it that it will cease only when the cycle has been repeated thirty times."  
If you'd asked Pamela Anderson to explain the theory of cognitive dissonance in terms of post-Renaissance Guatemalan society, she still wouldn't have looked as puzzled as DeHirst did now. "Huh?"  
"I told you you wouldn't believe me."  
"Do you... uh... have any proof?" DeHirst was still trying to give the impression that she was on top of the situation, whereas in reality she couldn't even catch up with the situation, let alone climb on top of it.  
"I have the solution that caused it, and samples of blood from all of the affected crew. I can prove how it works, but I've yet to find a cure."  
"But..." DeHirst felt like she was in Home Alone 2. "My god...."  
"I know. It's been a real struggle on the ship for the last three months."  
"...so... what are you leading to?"  
"It's just... well... several of the senior officers will be... reaching the end of their cycles two days from now. You might run into some rather 'out-of-character' behavior during the rest of your inspection here sir."  
Never in recorded history had a Starfleet inspector been thrown into such confusion. "Uhhhh, okay. I'll umm... keep that in mind." She stuttered out, slowly creeping away. Reaching the corridor she sprinted straight to 10 Forward, she obviously needed a drink or fourteen.  
Beverly watched her leave. "Lord, please, please, be gentle."  
  
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WEEK 12, DAY 6  
  
DeHirst would never forget today. Beverly would try very hard to. Both she and Troi had tried everything to make the other officers to behave decently, but they would refuse to have any part of it. "Why can't you leave us alone Deanna? We're fine!" Riker shouted at her when she suggested it. Crusher had even considered drugging them all, but that wouldn't look very good to DeHirst. In the end Beverly was following DeHirst everywhere along with Picard, before he ordered her to go back to Sick Bay or he'd call security. She returned to Sick Bay, called Troi over, and had the computer keep a camera on Picard and DeHirst.  
By the end of the day, Troi had to drink about a litre of whisky just to cope from watching, Beverly about 2 1/2. Picard was in fine bitchy form, tearing his ship apart ruthlessly, chastising crewmembers for anything from slouching as they walked to blinking too much. A lot of the crew ran away crying after their lecture, as they too were Marked that day and in the same emotional state. And poor DeHirst, for once in her life she looked positively terrified. Watching Picard doing all the fault-finding did make her job a bit easier, but she would have felt more comfortable in the middle of a Borg cube. But it was in Engineering that the tears started to flow for Beverly and Troi.  
  
DeHirst could not remember any inspection like this. She had worked very hard to get the reputation of the toughest inspector in Starfleet. Now, because Picard was being so harsh with any problems he saw, she had to actually defend his crew. She'd never defended anyone before. It took some getting used to.  
"This is not good enough Ensign!" Picard shouted. "How can you explain that?"  
"Well, we've never done a level 5 diagnostic test." The poor crewmember explained.  
"And why not!?"  
"Oh, come along Picard." DeHirst protested. "You know level 5 diagnostics are only used to test brand new parts. Nothing used for longer than an hour could ever pass."  
Picard ignored her. "You were given a direct order to run ALL possible tests for the Inspector. Explain why you saw it fit that a level 5 was not necessary."  
"Uhhh... " the Ensign was wondering how Picard would take the truth. It seemed to be the quickest way to get court-martialled lately. "You told us it wasn't necessary sir."  
"Is that right? Haven't you heard of initiative?"  
"Yes sir, but..."  
"Ah, thank you Ensign, that will be all." DeHirst butted in, seeking to let this poor innocent creature go. The ensign saluted as he started running away, and he'd gone 100 meters before his hand came down.  
"Again I apologise, Commodore. This crew used to work so much harder. Lately I don't know what's come over them."  
I think I've got a vague idea, DeHirst thought. "No, no. On the contrary, your crew is most efficient."  
Picard just snorted his disagreement. "Now, here we are at the OH FOR GOD'S SAKE GEORDI, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!?"  
Geordi was sitting on top of the warp core chamber, frantically cleaning the plasma transfer valves. Again. He looked up in annoyance. "I'm cleaning the valves, aren't I? What are YOU doing? Still sucking up to the inspector to get a promotion? Yeah, that's constructive, isn't it?"  
"Don't you start that!" Picard sneered in reply. "Someone's got to escort her round the ship. And it's better I do it than any of you lot! You'd just get lost. And Riker, well as soon as he knew the visitor was a woman he'd be drooling over her AND his erection!" DeHirst jumped at the shock of Picard referring to her like that.  
"WHAT DID YOU SAY!!!!?" shrieked Riker, who was standing on the other side of the warp core.  
Picard looked surprised, but his resolve returned just as quickly. "You heard me!" he retorted. "Oh, you always act the gentleman, but everybody knows what you really want! You think we don't know what you're up to when you lock the door to your quarters after you get off duty, when shortly afterwards you GET OFF!!"  
Riker was bright red with rage and embarrassment. "You... you BITCH!!! I'll show... you... Ohhh!" he wailed back as he ran out of the room bawling.  
"YA MAMMY'S BOY!!!!" Picard called after him. "That's right! Run away and cry to Deanna again! CALL YOURSELF A MAN!! God, I don't know. When's he going to take his hand off hi-OOOOF!"  
Geordi had hit him with one of the valves. "DON'T YOU SHOUT AT WILL LIKE THAT!!" he wailed as he stood over Picard, tears streaming down his cheeks. "DON'T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN! You're such a horrible old man! Just because he's young and athletic, and you're old and balding, it doesn't mean he's any less of a man than you!! Oh, what's the use?!"  
LaForge sprinted out of the room choking on his tears. Picard was still sprawled out on the floor, blood flowing from his nose. "Geordi! I'm sorry!"  
But he didn't listen. He just kept running away. "Oh, what have I done now?" Picard moaned into his palms. "I just wanted them to make the ship look good! Now, oh god..."  
And Picard began to weep. He sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Beverly, who was still watching this, was tempted to laugh. Then she looked at DeHirst - who looked positively lost. She was staring at Picard, a mixed look of horror and bewilderment on her face.  
Picard, in the meantime, was still bawling his eyes out. DeHirst had lost complete track of time. She got a shock when she saw someone else approaching Picard.  
"Come on Captain, it's all right. Let it all out."   
Beverly and Troi sat frozen, jaws hanging loose. Worf? Comforting someone?  
Picard eventually got himself vaguely together again. He looked up, straight into Worf's eyes.  
"It's okay, you were just saying what a lot of us were thinking. He'll understand. Just wait a while, and he'll forgive you." Worf somehow had a look of compassion on his face (at least as close as he could get).  
Picard's mouth opened slightly, as if he was about to disagree. But he changed his mind quickly. "We all know what you're going through." Worf continued. "All of us. We can't imagine what it must be like. But we understand. We do now. We'll forgive you for anything you do, we know that you're feeling more than a bit up & down lately."  
Picard seemed to be going through a great battle in his mind, clenching his eyes shut and grinding his teeth. "Oh Worf!"  
In a flash they were in each other's arms, Picard sobbing away. Worf was rubbing the back of his head, a benign smile on his face. "It's all right Jean-Luc, it's all right now. Come on, you just need a rest. Let's get you back to your quarters." Worf slowly let go of Picard but held him up as they walked out of Engineering. DeHirst stood frozen, THE picture of disbelief on her face.  
Picard could barely speak, he was almost choking on his tears. He managed to blurt out "I love you Worf. You've always been so good to me."  
Beverly sprinted to a nearby sink and promptly threw up in it. DeHirst fainted on the spot.  
  
That night Crusher and Troi went into mourning for their beloved Enterprise. DeHirst saw THAT!! "She'll split us up in an instant!" Troi mused. "And she's still going to be here tomorrow! What will she think when she sees them in THAT state?"  
"Remind me tomorrow to make sure my phaser's always on stun." Beverly intoned.  
"Why?"  
"I think I might shoot myself." 


	7. Gee, There Was A Lot Of Blood

WEEK 12, DAY 7  
  
Despite Troi's urging, Beverly steadfastly refused to leave her quarters and enter the carnage she foresaw. "I am not going out there and getting involved in THAT!"  
"Come on, how bad can they be?"  
"HOW BAD!? You saw them yesterday, can you imagine what today's performance would be like? I'm not coming out until they're all asleep."  
"Oh, whatever. You could at least keep trying to find some way to stop it."  
"I've tried! There isn't one! Thirty cycles, that's all I can find out."  
"There must be something else!"  
"Nothing. I'll keep trying, but not today! I am not leaving this room, and no one is coming in! Beverly Crusher will not be seen on the Enterprise today!"  
  
Time was to prove Beverly's decision was a wise one.  
  
Picard was just waking up. He was relishing that wonderful feeling of the morning when you can't move, and you don't want to. It was warm, so warm. He felt something move behind him, something touch his ear. Ahh, my dearest. I love you too. I could listen to that sound forever. That oh-so familiar rhythmic, husky breathing of...  
Worf!  
Picard was wide awake now, but still didn't move. Worf was snuggled up behind him, hugging him from behind. His mind raced back. Obviously Worf's comforting from yesterday hadn't finished. And even more obviously it had been a while since either of them had slept in a bed with another person. Did we do anything? No, no we couldn't have!... maybe... no! He wouldn't have...couldn't have!... although... "Worf?" he asked in some concern.  
"Hmmm?" Worf moaned, only half-awake.  
"Why did you kiss my ear?"  
Worf immediately woke up. His eyes flashed open, but he wasn't ready to move just yet either. "Why are you holding my hand?" he replied.  
Picard felt that yes, he was holding something - their senses were only just coming back. He felt something else too. "Where's you other hand?"  
"Between two pillows."  
Picard's eyes widened in horror. "Those aren't pillows!!!"  
  
DeHirst could not sleep at all. Visions of the day before haunted her, as if Q had come into her quarters and was showing her just how all the officers she had grilled in her career must have felt. 0800 came eventually. She didn't want to go out there and see those men ever again.  
"Excuse, my arse. This is really happening!" She cast her mind back to Beverly's warning. Their cycle ends today! That means... no! No! But I have to finish the... okay. Fine. I can handle this. I'll grit it out, just like I usually do. I'm not here to make friends or enjoy myself, so just treat them like they are, a bunch of schoolgirls the lot of them. The report, well, they're normally pretty good. The usual one will do.  
Preening herself up for the day, she ordered a glass of whisky for Dutch courage, and strode out into the corridor.  
  
Time was to prove DeHirst's decision was an idiotic one.  
  
'Firm, be firm.' DeHirst kept telling herself. She was utterly determined that she could and would take back control of her inspection, and she would refuse to be put off by these idiotic men and their behavior. It was just that a dusty corner of her subconscious kept on whispering 'resistance is futile', and another was telling her 'you'll be sorry!'  
DeHirst was so tense that her right hand was bleeding from clenching her fist so hard. Occasionally her vision went red, and the only thing that stopped her from breaking down on the spot was her last 25 years in the Fleet.  
It was Picard. Picard was killing her. Every point she had raised he shot out of the stars with an almost precise, vindictive abandon. DeHirst's firm resolve to hold her ground had turned into a desperate contradiction of anything he said.   
It was only a matter of time before her patience gave out. And it wasn't long before it did.  
  
The inspection had reached the shuttle bay, which was in a frenzied state of activity. There was plenty of cargo to be moved; an aid station was critically short on supplies, and the Enterprise had volunteered to go there (actually, Picard had said "Alright! Enough nagging already! I'll go!")  
Right now, Picard was abusing another Ensign for not dusting a shuttle's engine. DeHirst was standing behind him, sighing annoyedly. Finally, she butted into the conversation.  
"Thank you Ensign, you're dismissed." she said shakily, her anger almost boiling over.  
"Yes sir!" the Ensign replied.  
"No you don't! I'm not finished with you yet! You still haven't explained why you failed to clean the interior of the fuel tank satisfactorily."  
DeHirst tried again. "Dismissed, Ensign!"  
"I'll thank you not to get involved in my internal disciplinary procedures, Sara!"  
"Now Captain Picard, this is hardly necessary!" DeHirst had had more than enough of this. "Frankly, I find your recent conduct unbecoming of a Starfleet off--"  
"You shut up!" Picard cut in. "Or I'll tell Starfleet Command about how you 'inspected' the captain on the Centurion last year! That conduct was quite becoming, wasn't it? Apparently his ship didn't measure up, but he 'measured up' quite well, didn't he!? He measured up to 10 inches, I believe."  
DeHirst went white, then red, then white, then red again, all in the space of eight seconds. She shook for a while, then collapsed on the floor and burst into tears. She just couldn't take any more of this - it had been a very long, very bad inspection.  
Riker stared at the two of them. He was very angry. His face went crimson and his nostrils flared as turned on Picard. "YOU SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO HER!!" he shouted as he swung a right cross at Picard, sending him sprawling onto the floor.  
In an instant Worf was in Riker's face. And in another instant, Riker had rebounded off the wall of a shuttle. "How DARE you attack the Captain!" he snarled.  
Worf helped Picard to his feet, still trying not to look at him. "Are you all right sir?"  
"Yes, thank you Worf I'm fine..." his voice trailed off as he looked around.  
There were at least thirty men staring straight at him. He recognised them all as men he'd given a tearing off yesterday. They had tears in their eyes, and they were all Marked, their red patches shouted a warning to anything in their path to change theirs. There was an odd look on their faces. They were slowly walking towards him.  
"We've had enough of you!" a young lieutenant shouted at him. "Always shouting at all of us like we're just robots! Well we have feelings too, you know! TAKE 'IM!!" he shouted, as they all charged towards Picard.  
At once Worf gave the pose of a white knight defending his queen, but when he saw that it wasn't fooling anybody his self-preservation instincts kicked in, and he buggered off as quickly as possible.  
Picard was marginally less alert than Worf. Never much of a hand-to-hand fighter, he only realised what was happening just after it happened, ie: when thirty men simultaneously dived on him and started punching the crap out of him. He tried to fight back, but thirty to one weren't the best odds in the world. Life is a matter of majorities, and right now Picard was outvoted.  
But it didn't stay that way for long. Some of the rest of the shuttle bay crew came to his rescue, trying to prise the men off Picard. This only started even more one-on-one fights as old scores were suddenly given a chance to be settled. Riker led a counter-attack for the Rebellion, Geordi got in on the act, and in the end the entire shuttle bay had erupted in a huge battle with itself. Men, fists, screams, teeth, and cargo boxes were flying everywhere. Ensigns had ganged together and were saluting officers, then promptly gang-bashing them. "Stop it, all of you! Stop this mindless aggression!" Troi shrieked as someone floored her. Outside in the corridor no one could hear what was going on through the noiseproof walls. Data called security and they rushed in to break people up, only to get lost in the carnage as well. Eventually the entire security crew were also in the fight, and seemed to be losing it. Data himself got involved, trying to delicately render people unconscious somehow, only to receive a wayward phaser stun blast from a trigger-happy security crewmember and was put out of commission. The guard that shot him paused for a moment and saw what he did to poor innocent Data. Thoughts of guilt washed over him, his shoulders slumped, a bittersweet tear in his eye, and *THUD* he had a cargo box hit him in the temple (that'll teach him to get sappy in the middle of a brawl - there is no Walden Pond on the Enterprise). Geordi had his VISOR broken and knocked onto the floor, and not long after three ribs were broken and he was knocked onto the floor. The fourteen men now trying to attack Picard simultaneously had got into a brawl when they ran into each other, and they all completely forgot about him. Picard meanwhile had gone into a frenzied rage just at the thought of his crew attacking him, and was diving on the nearest man he could get to, even if it was someone that tried to rescue him. Riker had opened some cargo boxes full of paints and dyes, and was throwing whatever he could find at anyone he could see. Soon, the shuttle bay & its' crew looked like something out of Yellow Submarine. In a matter of minutes everybody was wearing not only a red uniform, but a green, blue, pearl, tangerine, mustard yellow, white, grey, brown, and violet uniform. Worf gave an ancient, blood-lusted Klingon war cry, which was responded to by a splash of brown paint. A group of practical jokers had centered themselves around the food dispenser, and were throwing in everything they could make. Pies, cakes, custard, anything. Some of the crew saw this, and a few gangs with a similar sense of humor charged for the remaining dispensers. Soon, along with the paint, desserts were covering the shuttle bay crew. A green security guard covered in strawberry mousse was kicking a magenta engineer with a chocolate mud cake dribbling down the back of his head. Worf was hit by a bag of sugar which exploded all over him, and combined with the paint made him look like a donut. 'Is this some advanced human form of war?' he thought, licking some of the sugar off his finger. Data had recovered from being knocked out earlier and re-entered the fray, only to have a crate of melon synthenol hit his power switch and render him unconscious for a second time. Picard was about to dive on Riker when he was hit in the face by a pavlova, lost his balance, and slipped in a patch of lemon sorbet. Riker laughed at this before he was struck down by a flying fruit platter. Geordi gingerly stood up, blood and rasberry jam running down his face and a shit-eating grin decorating it. He blindly stared into the fray and, half-concussed, said "Bye Tasha, I'll see you at the clinic." before being knocked unconscious when he was sandwiched by a box of PCB spares and a rice pudding.  
And in the middle of this technicolour apocalypse stood DeHirst. No one was even looking at her, it was as if she didn't even exist. She was looking around at the devastation with the expression of a four-year-old lost in the woods. Long past tears, well past confusion, she was totally convinced that she had gone insane. 'This is some kind of shared hallucination. It must be!' she thought. When a crew member collapsed unconscious on top of her, she realised this was only too real. 'Escape! Get out of this place!!' She ran screaming out of the shuttle bay, found an escape pod, jettisoned it and flew away to her rendezvous point.  
She never set foot on the Enterprise again. Normally the notes on her inspection reports were as long as seven pages. The Enterprise got one word: Satisfactory. When the High Command asked her to expand on that she got a wild look in her eyes and started frothing at the mouth, so they didn't ask about it again.  



	8. Oh, Sweet Lord No... This Shouldn't Be H...

WEEK 13, DAY 7  
  
It was a bad time for the Federation.  
Their flagship, the universally known and respected ship, the Enterprise, was now put under a strict quarantine. No ship, either Klingon nor Starfleet nor Romulan, was to approach it or make contact with it. Those who did, the proclamation read, would suffer the consequences of whatever was dished out to them. This order was made partially to prevent any further 'incidents', but mainly to prevent the Romulans from citing the Enterprise for breaching any laws and bringing complaints to the Council.  
The poor innocent nebulae cloud was also labeled as a "Never-Approach-Even-Whilst-Being-Attacked-By-The-Entire-Combined-Klingon-And-Romulan-Fleets" area. Since it was given the mantle of scape-goat and what had happened on the Enterprise, no one was brave enough to go back in. Which was a bit of a pity, as the nebulae contained various asteroids with mineral deposits which served as an energy source twelve times more efficient than dilithium.  
Actually, some three centuries later, an exploratory team composed entirely of female crewmembers did explore the nebulae, as they reasoned that they would not be affected. Unfortunately, just to keep the joke running, a Q with a twisted sense of humour made half of them grow penises, which gave some of the more refined officers great blows to their pride as they had to learn how to urinate standing up, a skill that took a little time to master for the uninitiated.  
That was the final nail. No one ever did go back, except the Q's who were still laughing and held it up as one of the few areas of space that McDonalds weren't putting up restaurants.  
  
Riker was well approaching insanity. After the debacle of a week ago, he had now learnt more than enough about having a period. And it was that day today. Oh, not again! Why? It's not fair!  
As the day wore on, he got more and more paranoid. Picard, who had gone through his 30th and last cycle the day before, had to relieve him from duty eventually since he was shaking so much. His have gone, why not mine? Oh, come on! Get it over with!  
But it never came. Riker was more relieved than ever. And they would never come back to him again.  
  
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WEEK 15, DAY 5  
  
Dr. Crusher really had her work cut out now. She needed to find a cure for MM, otherwise, as she calculated, Geordi would be copping it for three and a half years. She had tried everything else she could think of, but nothing was working at all. The only option she could think of was a hysterectomy, but on a male? Certainly a first for surgery, and quite possibly her last if she screwed it up. It was definitely a last resort. She was running a few experiments when Riker came in, looking positively pale.  
"Doctor Crusher?"  
"Will? My god, you look awful. What's the matter?"  
"You tell me, I've got no idea."  
Beverly had to sigh. Gee, thanks Riker. A lot of help you are. "Well, what's wrong? What are you feeling?"  
"It's been for a few days now. I've been vomiting a bit, some nausea, and there's a pain in my... you know..."  
"Ahh yes. Just sit down, I'll check you out." She got out her PADD and ran it over Riker. For a while she stood frozen.  
"Beverly?" Riker asked. She didn't move. "What is it?"  
Bev came back to her senses. "Hang on, I'll check you again, this can't be right." She swept the PADD over Riker again, an utterly serious expression on her face frightening Riker somewhat. But once again, she had a look of disbelief on her face after checking him. "Oh my god... this is impossible!"  
Riker had turned snowy white. "What? Wh--wh--what is it?"  
"Umm, Riker, you are suffering from male menstruation, aren't you?"  
"Yes... but it stopped last week."  
"Oh my... how could this happen?"  
"What is it?!" Riker was gripping the med-sarcophagus so tightly his knuckles were white.  
Beverly cleared her throat a few times. "Riker... it seems that you are... um... pregnant."  
  
Three hours later Riker woke up. "Huh? What happened?"  
He looked up and saw Beverly. She had stripped him down and was giving him a physical examination. "Oh, hello again. You just fainted, that's all."  
"I can't remember. What happened? What's wrong with me?"  
"Yes, it's true I'm afraid. You're pregnant."  
  
Four hours later Will awoke again. He was back in his quarters and his uniform. Deanna and Beverly were sitting not far away, talking about something inaudible. Both were obviously very worried. Troi looked over and saw Riker was awake. "Oh Will!" She threw her arms around him and held him close. "Beverly told me everything."  
Riker couldn't say anything; he was still in deep shock from the news. After a while Troi let go, but kept her hands on his shoulders. "I'd better leave you both alone, Dr. Crusher has some things to explain to you." She gave him a long eye-to-eye stare and Will could see the tear tracks running down from her eyes. Suddenly she turned away and ran out holding back her sobs.  
Riker was tempted to pass out again. The last four months had been hard enough, but THIS!? Pregnant? How? When? Why? Who? What the?  
"How are you feeling?" Beverly asked, coming close.  
"Right now, I have no idea. What the hell is going on? How did this happen? I mean, sure this period thing I know about, but this?"  
"Well, as best as I could work out, it seems that you have impregnated yourself."  
Riker's eyes popped open. "Hey!?"  
"I did a few DNA tests, and the foetus has the exact same DNA code as you. It would appear that at some stage not long ago you... ah..." she faltered for a moment to find the right phrase. "You engaged in a common form of solitary sexual practice--"  
"What? I don't understand." Riker blathered out. He was still in recovery.  
"You were having a wank, William."  
He was wide awake now. "Oh. Uh yes... well..."  
Beverly put him out of his embarrassment - he had enough on his mind as it was. "Yes, well anyway, it would appear that at the... right time, shall we say, your sperm met the ovum in the Vas Deferens, and fertilized it."  
"Oh no..." His head fell into his palms.  
"Yes. I didn't think this was possible! But it would seem that the MM virus has effects I still don't know about. Even the morning sickness has come far earlier than usual. But the normal conception time still would apply."  
Riker started clawing his hair out. He didn't understand everything Crusher said, but from what he worked out it still bode evil. "How could this happen? This can't be happening!"  
She draped her arm around his shoulders. "Yes, I'm afraid your timing was somewhat bad."  
"What in the name of Q am I going to do?"  
"Well, in nine months you are going to learn the ultimate lesson about being a woman, and boldly go where no man has gone before. And probably never will again."  
"Hold on!" Riker leapt up and backed away a few steps in protest. "Ohhh no! I don't think so! There is no way I am carrying this thing around for nine months in my... my... where is it anyway?"  
Beverly bit her lip. She didn't want to tell him this. "The foetus is ah... growing in your... scrotum."  
Riker turned white again. Even his beard seemed to grow a few gray hairs. "Are you telling me that in nine months I am going to be carrying an 11-pound baby in my marble bag??"  
"Ah, yes."  
"It's gonna expand to fit THAT!? Can you imagine how much it would hurt when it's kicking? Forget it! There is no way I am taking this on!"  
"But Will..."  
"I don't care frankly! History in the making, well this is a part of history I don't want a part of thank you very much!" And Riker announced a phrase never used by a man before: "I WANT AN ABORTION!"  
"Will, you can't. The Prime Directive forbids--"  
Riker was in a frenzy. "PISS ON THE PRIME DIRECTIVE!! When they wrote it, I don't think they would've thought of a male officer getting pregnant! I am NOT going to give birth, end of discussion! I mean, do you think I'd make a good mother anyway!?"  
  
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A FEW WEEKS LATER....  
  
Eventually Riker had to call Starfleet Command for a meeting of the Admiralty to get their interpretation of the Prime Directive on this point. They told him that they could not allow an abortion, even for males. Riker asked them what they would do in this situation, but as they were all men who were not pregnant and therefore biased, they didn't answer that one.  
  
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Epilogue  
  
Word spread of the outbreak on the Enterprise quickly, and it was met by either grave concern, or howling laughter. Riker was court-martialled but exonerated for his actions against the Romulan cruiser on the grounds that he was not in control of his actions. The two judges who made this comment found themselves very unpopular with the females of the universe, which explained their bachelorhood (although they claimed it was voluntary).  
Beverly never did find a counteragent to MM, however she did find an indirect solution. Noting that it always wore off after 30 cycles, she gave the sufferers a dose of MM so strong that they ovulated every half hour, and locked the victim in a holodeck for two days just to be sure it wore off. Even in the all the potential comforts of the holodeck, those two days they spent in there were the most traumatic of their lives for many of the victims. But Bev certainly got her wish - the men finally learnt their hardest lesson on what it was to be a woman.  
Riker learnt it best of all. After nine months, several uniform redesigns, a long time walking like John Wayne and a fair amount of time in a wheelchair (in the end the weight of the baby was breaking his back and making him walk like ET, not to mention just going to the toilet was turning into a balancing act) he did give birth and had a boy (this scene was cut from the fanfic on the grounds that if it were here the fic wouldn't even qualify for an X rating). He tries not to show off the Caesarian scar though.  
  
The End (Thank God:)  
  
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Copyright Scum Inc. Publishing  



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